


If You Ever Leave Me

by alyjude_sideburns



Series: The Mustang Series [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Established Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-02-10
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone appears to be targeting the Ellisons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Ever Leave Me

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the story "Death of a Beloved". Spoilery warnings in the end notes.
> 
> JC, thanks for the ideas, and Seabreeze, your wonderful song videos are responsible for this and the title.

 

If You Ever Leave Me by alyjude

 

Yeeessss! He was still asleep. Slowly, carefully, Blair Sandburg scooted out from under the arm that rested across his chest, rolled onto his side, propped his head on his hand and stared, unabashedly.

Now this was cool -- way cool.

Since beginning their extremely intimate exploration of every inch of skin and _other_ areas, some four weeks ago, in Blair's new Mustang, they'd been playing 'morning tag' with Jim the acknowledged winner. The game was simple. Whoever woke first, got to look. His fill.

Blair wasn't all that fond of the game, since he was the acknowledged loser, not to mention he knew damn good and well what he looked like in the morning, what with his hair pointing in every compass direction and several directions as yet undiscovered. His morning stubble was dark and heavy, as in painful for sentinel skin, he was certain he drooled, and he _knew_ he grumbled _and_ twitched in his sleep. Sheets were rarely in any type of order, no matter how he'd gone to sleep the night before and, no matter how cold it might be, he still woke up with a tangled mess, with sheets and blankets tumbled, wrapped, askew, pulled from the mattress, often on the floor, pillows at the far end of the bed, and he always wondered how _that_ happened. Hell, sometimes, _he'd_ ended up at the far end of the bed. But now that he thought about it, since moving upstairs, he'd usually found himself too wrapped up in sentinel arms to move around much during the night, but still... he was a morning mess. Not a pretty sight.

And yet, morning after morning, he'd awaken to find Jim staring at him, this atypical smile on his face, a smile that could only be described as 'angelic', and one hand somewhere on his body, one finger making a design. Blair had sworn himself to secrecy by promising _never_ to mention to anyone that Jim traced little hearts on his skin in the morning.

So far, the score for this little tag game was:

Jim -- 18

Blair -- 0

(Hey, there were plenty of mornings when waking up was mutual and not a few mornings that started with _both_ men humping a thigh or a hip.)

But on this Sunday, Blair's eyes opened to a peaceful, sound asleep, slightly drooling Sentinel. The less than professional side of Blair the scientist kicked in and, with a Machiavellian grin, he began to trace his own pattern on his lover's well-muscled and hairy arm.

Jim shifted.

Blair deepened the tracing.

Jim shifted again, and frowned.

Blair's smile broadened.

"you should have been an artist. damn fine rendering."

"Ya think?"

"mm, and we're tracing that particular object on my arm, exactly why?"

"Test."

"ah, test."

"Yep."

"and I passed?"

"Don't know. Yours or mine?"

"thicker -- yours."

Blair leaned in and touched his lips to Jim's. "Good Sentinel, very good Sentinel."

"well, I _am_ now very familiar with said organ."

"Yes, yes, you are. Bet you could pick it out of a lineup."

"oh, yeah," Jim breathed, "easily."

"Wouldn't even have to run a taste test."

"um, no, but would _want_ to, just to make sure, you understand."

"Oh, of course. Double check. Confirmation. Every good detective would."

Jim opened his eyes, rolled onto Blair and, holding him down, he growled, "They'd better not!"

"Ooooh, so territorial."

"Not at all. Jealous. Plain and simple. And maybe, just maybe, a little... "

"Possessive?"

"Um... that could be the word I was looking for... maybe."

Blair snorted, and was about to share just _how_ possessive _he_ was about Jim, when Jim's tongue snaked out and licked his bottom lip. They could talk possessions later...

"mm, yes," he mumbled as the tongue moved to his ear... "oh, yeah, shit, we should register that tongue... god, um, with the cascade pd... "

"It is. I carry a special license."

"i'll just bet you do... better be labeled for restricted use... "

Jim had captured Blair's wrists and now moved them over the younger man's head, one hand encircling them as the other impatiently unwrapped the sheets from around Blair's lower anatomy.

"capture the enemy... " Jim whispered, as he pulled the last of the sheet off...

"enemy!?" Blair squeaked, Jim's right hand having connected with his cock and giving it a nice, tight squeeze.

"military objective. surround, move in... "

"lube... "

"right, can't forget the supplies, the weapons... the tools... "

Blair was laughing uncontrollably and, as Jim's eyes raked over his captive body, Jim reared back, one eyebrow rising quizzically. "You find this maneuver funny?"

"I find the idea of me as a military objective hilarious. You twit."

"Ex-Rangers are _not_ twits."

"Sorry. _Twat_."

Unfortunately, further brilliant comeback lines were stalled by the ringing of the phone.

"Better answer. I can tell. That's Simon's ring."

Jim let go of Blair's hands with an 'umph', and reached over him to snag the phone. "So you can tell his ring now?"

"yep."

"Ellison."

_"Need you at Fortuna's, Jim. He's going to spill everything, and he wants you there"_

Jim glanced at his partner, whose expression clearly said, 'told you so'.

"Now, sir?"

_"Now. Won't take long, Jim. Maybe two hours"_

Jim did some quick calculations and figured the timing could work. "Yes, sir. Meet you in thirty."

He hung up, rolled off Blair and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"What?" Blair sat up, pushing hair back from his face.

"Art Fortuna, he's gonna spill. I've got to meet Simon."

"I'll get ready." And he jumped up with every intention of beating Jim to the shower.

"No, Chief. You stay here. Well, not exactly _here_. I, um, well, _we're_ having brunch with Dad and Steven. At Tony's By the Sea. Twelve-thirty. You could go ahead, in case I'm late."

Blair froze. Jim's words... his tone... "Uh, Jim? What's up?"

"I just think... it's time."

Blair played dumb. It was self-preservation. "Time?"

Jim got up, pulled on his robe and managed to _not_ look at Blair. "Yeah, time. For my family to know."

To know. His family. To know. Blair gulped. "Jim, it would have been nice if you'd shared this decision with me."

Jim finally connected with Blair and he wasn't surprised by what he saw. Fear. Stark. And anger. And a slight tremor in Blair's limbs. He quickly sat down next to him, one arm draping itself over Blair's shoulders.

"I knew you'd fight it. But it is time. I want Dad to know about us, about you."

The tremors increased. Tenfold. Jim hadn't seen a Blair panic attack in years, but if he didn't say something,quick, he was going to see one again.

"Look, if you don't want me to tell them today, then I won't. We'll just have a nice brunch, with a nice ocean view, and maybe after, you and I can go down to the beach. Catch a few waves."

"Your father already doesn't like me. What makes you think that _now_ is the time to tell him? I personally would have thought waiting until you were pregnant would make more sense."

Jim hung his head and whispered, "I guess now is the time to confess... I can never have your baby, Chief."

Blair pushed the man back with all his strength and stood, hands on hips. "You... hussy. You... harlot. You lied to me."

"Feel better now?" Jim quizzed, a gentle smile on his face.

"No. And I'd prefer that you didn't tell him today. Or ever, for that matter. Time isn't going to endear me to him. I don't wear well, Jim." Jim reached out one hand and took Blair's, pulling him back down to the edge of the bed.

"That's not true, Chief. I like you a _whole_ lot better now... and Simon's downright in love with you."

"Schmuck."

"Just promise to keep an open mind today, okay?"

"Me? Always open, man. It's not _my_ mind I'm worried about. But you promise not to say anything if I give you the high sign?"

"Promise. And Chief? What's the high sign?"

Blair lifted his hand.

"Oh. Got it. Kinda rude for Tony's, though." Blair managed a swat to Jim's butt as the older man stood and walked toward the stairs.

*****

**Same Day -- 12:15**

Blair had to admit, brunch at Tony's, on a beautiful day like this, was an inspiration. Every now and then, Cascade could make a man proud. Clear, sunny, warm, with just a hint of a breeze. The water was almost aquamarine, and the waves were breaking pretty well. It was the perfect day for a convertible Mustang.

The wind ruffled his hair, and he felt just a tad guilty about the Volvo. But only a tad. This car was an absolute dream, _and_ had been properly christened. Blair smiled at the memory, and at the times since... and wondered why the hell they'd never done _it_ in the truck. Like he had to ask... they could get his Mustang all sticky but not the precious truck...

He pulled into Tony's parking lot on Ocean, and noted that Steven was just getting out of his car and that Mr. Ellison stood on the walkway bordering the marina, waving at Steven.

Blair parked, sucked in his breath, let it out gradually, tied his hair back, straightened his jacket and tie, got out, pulled up the top and fastened it, set the alarm, took another deep breath and walked toward the two Ellisons.

As he neared them, Steven faced him, a huge Ellison grin on his face. "Hey, Blair, where's Jim?"

Blair stepped up to them, shook Steven's hand, then Mr. Ellison's as he answered, "He'll be here, but he had to meet Simon. He sent me on ahead."

"I see. My son makes this arrangement, then proceeds to be late... interesting."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ellison. There's a very important case and it looked as though they might be able to wrap it up today. I'm sure he'll be here, any minute."

"Hey, Dad, it's what Jim does. And we're early. Let's just enjoy the view while we wait."

William Ellison nodded and the men began a slow walk along the wharf. Eventually, Mr. Ellison asked Steven about work, and they were off and running.

Blair walked slightly behind the two men, half listening, half watching the water, and really wishing that Jim was with him. After several minutes, the two Ellisons turned and began to walk back toward the restaurant and, as Blair tried to catch up, he noted one boat, motor running, getting ready to set off. He watched, in envy, as a man in a three-piece suit and a briefcase ran down the dock, toward the boat. Another man, heavyset, with long, stringy hair, met him and helped him aboard, while a third man threw off the ropes. As the Ellison men stepped up to the restaurant, the elegant boat pulled away. Blair watched it move out, wishing he were aboard...

As he caught up with Steven and Mr. Ellison, Steven remarked that they might as well go in, have a drink at the bar, and hope that Jim would arrive in time for their reservation.

*****

"Well, I think that went well, didn't you, Chief?"

"No."

"You gonna forgive me, anytime soon?"

"No."

"Right. Well. The brunch was good. The crabcakes were great. Oh, not as good as yours, of course, but for a restaurant, passable."

Blair turned to his lover and smirked. "Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yes. Did it work?"

"No."

"Oh."

They were silent as they stood in the restaurant gazebo, overlooking the bay.

"We could go home and endlessly fuck. Would that make you feel better?"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt. Exactly. But you _are_ in the doghouse for several days, Detective Ellison."

"Shit, and I was hoping for a relationship _without_ a doghouse."

"There is no such thing, not if you're half of the relationship."

"Hey, it didn't go so bad. He took it -- well."

"He left, Jim. He got up, looked at me, snorted, and left. That's not taking it well."

"He apologized. He asked for time. He said he'd call... and Steven thought it was great."

"You asshole, Steven _knew_."

"Now, you don't know that for sure."

Blair looked up at Jim, shaking his head. "God, you _know_. You know he knew. He figured it out before we did. Now can we go home? I have a little Sunday left. I'd like to enjoy it."

As he turned, Jim snaked an arm around his waist and said, "I'm really sorry, Blair. I thought my father would take the news better. I really did."

Blair turned in Jim's arms and said, "Jim, I'm upset for you, not me. I wish he'd taken it better too... I just wish you'd listened to me, that's all. And I hope this doesn't put your relationship with your father back a couple of notches."

"Come on, let's go home. Get cozy, watch some football."

Blair nodded, but he watched Jim, as they walked to their respective vehicles. He couldn't handle it if things got worse between Jim and his father -- because of him. That had been his fear all along. Knowing your son was gay was one thing, seeing him with his lover another. And seeing him with someone like -- Blair... well, that was another thing all together.

*****

**Wednesday -- 1:00 PM**

Blair gazed around the bullpen. The room was somber, with most of the detectives walking around like zombies, body language saying -- Failure.

Simon had received word two hours earlier that the man who could bring down Efrem Frost, the city's number-one 'family' businessman, was missing. His name was Brad Corley and he was apparently a gifted man, a brilliant hacker and Frost's number one accountant. A man who'd gotten in over his head and was now willing to turn state's evidence. Except -- he'd disappeared. He'd last been seen by his wife, Alicia, heading out the front door for a meeting with a client. And that had been three days ago.

Megan and Rafe, the primary detectives on the case, were tearing the city apart, hoping that Corley had just gone underground. Meanwhile, the rest of Major Crime went about working on their own cases, but very aware of what was at stake with bringing down Frost.

Blair gazed at his partner, and they both shrugged helplessly.

*****

Simon put the phone down, staring at the item as though it were dangerous. And it was. The bearer of bad news. Worse than a telegram. And he would now have to give this news to his best detective. He pulled off his glasses and compulsively rubbed his eyes, wishing he were anywhere but here. But he was Jim's Captain, and his friend.

Slowly Banks stood, walked to the door and signaled to Jim, who frowned, glanced over to his partner, then stood and made his way to Simon's office.

"Sit down, Jim." Simon closed the door as Jim took his seat. He walked to his desk and rested against the edge.

"Jim, I just received a call from the fifth precinct. Captain Phillips is an old friend of mine. He recognized the name and called me immediately."

"Simon?"

"Your father, Jim."

Jim blinked, focused, gave his head a little shake, then, "My father?"

"He was found... early this morning. In an alley not far from his home. The apparent victim of a mugging gone horribly wrong. I'm sorry, Jim."

"Mugging? My father?"

Simon nodded, watching his friend closely. "His wallet, watch, a ring, credit cards, all missing."

"But, how... " Jim tried to collect himself, to regain his equilibrium.

"He was stabbed. Evidently he tried to fight, Jim. There were, according to Mike Phillips, signs of a struggle."

"Where, I mean, God. I've got to call--"

"Jim, Steven knows. And your father is at the morgue. You know the drill -- there has to be an identification. SOP."

Jim couldn't seem to move. Sunday. Just three days ago. His father -- gone. It wasn't possible.

Simon moved to his door, opened it, caught Sandburg's attention and waved him over. As Blair joined them, Simon said, "Sandburg, take him home. There's been -- some bad news. His father was killed in a mugging. I'll get all the additional information that I can, and call you."

Blair almost fell back at the news, at the weight of it. Jim's father. Jesus. He moved to Jim's side, put his hand on his shoulder and said, "Jim?"

The head lifted, and stunned pale blue eyes gazed back at him. "Blair, he's -- dead." Blair nodded, took his arm and helped him up.

"Come on, Jim, let's get home."

As Ellison got to his feet, he stopped. "No. You said he's at the morgue, Simon? To be identified? How did they know... I mean, you said his wallet, credit cards... gone, how did they know?"

"One of the officers summoned to the scene recognized him. Beat officer, Jim. But that's not an official ID, only family can do that. Steven's on his way."

"So am I. Come on, Chief, we're going to the morgue."

*****

Paul Cross pulled the sheet back and Jim found himself gazing down at his father. The face was pale, calm. No sign of death, of struggle. He could be asleep. Jim caught himself. How many times had he heard a victim's family say just that?

_"She looks -- so calm."_

_"He's just asleep."_

And here he was, thinking the same thing. But it was true. He felt as though he could just reach out, shake his father on the shoulder and the man would wake up. Just -- wake up. His hand actually moved to do exactly that, when a set of fingers wrapped around his arm. Blair. Blair stopped him.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Sandburg." He pulled away a bit harshly, as Cross brought the sheet back up to cover William Ellison. Jim stood rooted to the floor as the drawer was slid shut and he experienced a momentary panic... his father -- being shut away, in the dark and the cold. He almost stopped the movement of the slab that held William Ellison... no, a body. Not his father. His father was gone. An arm tugged at him, a voice called to him...

"Come on, Jim, let's go. Let's go home." The voice was gentle, too gentle. He didn't need gentle, he needed answers. He needed to catch the bastards that did this. He needed... he needed...

"Not home, the alley."

*****

As they walked through the double doors leading out, Steven walked in. The two men stopped, staring at each other. Finally, Jim spoke.

"I did the ID, Steven. You don't have to go in there."

Steven looked at his brother, at the door behind him, and back to Jim. "I think... I want to. Will you wait?" His voice sounded so young, even to Blair. Jim shook his head and before Steven could react to the negative, Jim said, "No, but I'll go back in... with you." He took his brother's arm and the two walked back to the morgue, leaving Blair behind.

He debated following, but decided this was a brother moment and he certainly didn't belong. He moved through the doors, looked down the hallway, gave a half turn back then, with an abortive little movement, walked to a bench and sat down -- to wait.

He looked at the floor. Dirty. Scuffed. William Ellison was dead. But he'd been alive on Sunday. He'd been -- angry, on Sunday. Angry at the news Jim had given him. Angry at Blair. Angry _with_ Blair. His son's lover. His son's oh, so inadequate lover. And now he was dead.

Blair scratched his jaw, tucked some hair back, and went back to watching the floor.

*****

The alley was cordoned off, so Jim simply moved under the tape, Blair close behind. He walked cautiously toward the chalk on the ground. The mark that represented his father.

Blair wanted to get Jim out of here, wanted to take his arm, drag him out of that alley, but he knew... knew that Jim wouldn't go. And it was right that he be here, he was a sentinel, he might spot something the others had missed. It was right, but it didn't change how Blair felt. Nor how he wanted to protect Jim from this. So he just stood, slightly behind the larger man, not speaking, just waiting, knowing there was no point in his moving through the alley, not with Jim there.

Jim combed every inch of the alley. And found nothing. No evidence to contradict the conclusions. His father had died because of a random act of violence.

He turned and walked out of the alley.

Sandburg hurried to keep up.

*****

**Saturday -- 10:00 AM**

It was a bleak day, dark and cold. Blair stood, shivering, in a black suit, wearing his long, black wool coat.

The funeral was as dark as the weather. It was well-attended, with the rich and famous gathered to say their final farewell to an important member of their society and a good friend.

Steven stayed close to his brother, both men standing a bit apart from the rest, with Sally tucked protectively under Jim's arm. Blair stood with Simon and the others from Major Crime, sharing Simon's umbrella because, of course, it was raining. Blair never watched the pastor, never looked at the gravesite, choosing instead to keep an eye on Jim throughout the entire ceremony. He was clearly worried about his partner because, in the last three days, Jim had been quiet, reticent and unlike any Jim that Blair had known. Grief was to be expected, and with Jim, well, he typically went silent. But since he and Blair had become lovers, the older man had been so open, so forthcoming with feelings and emotions, that it was suddenly hard to see him bury himself again.

With a start, Blair realized the funeral was over. People were filing past the brothers, shaking hands, offering hugs, and the occasional kiss. Simon moved toward the line, while Blair remained by the graveside. He watched the two men, taking the condolences, both with little to no expression on their faces. Sally was finally led away by her sister, crying helplessly.

Finally, the last of the mourners had gone, with only Steven, Jim, Simon and Blair remaining.

Steven turned to his brother and hugged him and, as he pulled away, he said, "Dad's attorney has set us up for the reading on Monday, at four. Is that okay with you?"

"It's fine. But is it really necessary? We both know what Dad left us."

Steven looked down at the ground as he said, "Dad changed it, this last Monday, Jim." And Steven couldn't help but glance over at Blair, who stood a few feet away. "He was -- angry. I tried to change his mind, but he was adamant."

Jim smiled wanly, "What, he cut me out? Oh, dear."

"No, of course he didn't cut you out, you're his son. But he... did, oh, God, Jim. He made a stipulation."

A coldness gripped Jim, as what Steven was trying to say, sunk in. "What kind of stipulation, Steven?" he asked, coldly.

"You know how his estate was to be divided?" At Jim's nod, Steven went on, "No change, except, that if you die, your inheritance reverts to only me or my direct... descendants. Unless you're no longer with him." And Steven indicated Blair.

"Jesus," Jim whispered out. "How could he?"

"Jim I tried, I did. But he wasn't at a point where he could accept --"

"Don't say _him_ again. _He_ is Blair Sandburg, the man I love."

"And he betrayed you, Jim," Steven said tersely.

"You don't have a clue what you're talking about. I'm going home, and I won't be there on Monday. You can have it all, I don't want any of it." He started to turn away, but Steven grabbed at his coat sleeve.

"Please, Jim, that's not how I feel, and even if it was, I mean, he gave up everything for you, and you're happy, Jim."

Jim stared at his brother and nodded, "Yes, I am, and I still won't be there. And I still don't want his money."

Jim walked away, leaving his brother standing in the rain.

*****

**Sunday -- 12:00 Noon**

Blair moved about the loft as quietly as possible, Jim still asleep upstairs. It had been a bad night, with Jim tossing and turning, moaning, and when Blair had tried to take him into his arms, Jim had moved away, turning over on his side, leaving Blair lying on his back, itching to comfort.

Now, another Sunday morning, and Blair had awakened first, but with no joy this time. Was it only one week ago? Shit. What a difference a week makes.

Tomorrow, he had to try to get Jim to meet with Steven at the lawyer's. Fat chance. He'd been close enough to the two men yesterday to hear their words, and Simon had heard them as well, to Blair's mortification.

He glanced at his wristwatch. Noon. He'd been checking on Jim every hour or so since he'd gotten up, always to find the man deeply asleep, thank god. And if he stayed that way all day, great. He needed it. Needed it much more than talking with Blair.

The phone rang and Blair jumped to answer it before it could disturb Jim.

"Hello?"

_"Mr. Sandburg? It's me, Sally."_

Something about her tone got to Blair, as goosebumps rose on his arms and the hair the back of his neck lifted. "Yes, Sally, what is it?"

_"Where's -- Jim?"_

"Still asleep. You need him?"

_"It's Steven. He's at Mercy General. Last night, car accident, oh god... please, bring Jim?"_

"We'll be right there, Sally. How -- is he?"

_"In a coma, the doctors... they aren't very_... _please, hurry, get him here."_

She disconnected.

*****

For a few moments, Blair stared at the phone, then he carefully picked it back up, punched in a number and, when it was answered, he said, "Simon, Blair. I just received a call from Sally, the Ellison housekeeper? Steven's been in an accident. It looks bad."

_"Jesus, Sandburg. How is Jim?"_

"I haven't told him yet, he's upstairs, asleep. I'm calling you -- because, well, every instinct I have says Jim's next. I'm thinking -- too much coincidence? Steven is at Mercy General, and maybe he and Jim should have a guard?"

_"Fuck. I'm sending Henri over there now. You can handle Jim until you two get here?"_

"Yeah, Simon. And thanks."

_"I'll find out everything I can while you get Jim over to Mercy. This is going to be hard, Blair. He's going to need you."_

"He has me."

_"I know."_

*****

Blair gazed down at his sleeping lover. God, he hated to wake him. To tell him this latest piece of news. He sat down on the edge, feeling the bed sink a bit, not unlike his stomach... reached out a hand and gently shook his partner.

"Jim? Come on, wake up."

Jim turned over on his back, one hand grasping out, fingers twitching. Blair took the hand and gripped hard. "Jim, gotta get up now, come on." Blue eyes opened, squinted and focused on Blair. Jim caught the too fast heartbeat, the perspiration, the scent of -- fear. He sat bolt upright and asked, "What?"

"Jim, Sally just called, it's -- Steven."

Jim dropped his hand from Blair's, let out a hard breath and said, "What happened?"

"He's alive, Jim. At Mercy General. A car accident."

Jim was up, sweeping the sheets off, standing, pulling on jeans, a shirt, slipping into his shoes and, without a backward glance, headed downstairs.

The ride to the hospital was quiet, with Blair driving, and nervously watching his mirrors. He was on edge, a feeling of dread spreading over him like a plague. Jim sat huddled, as much as a man his size can huddle, in the farthest corner of the Mustang, staring out the window, unmoving.

Blair pulled into the hospital parking lot, caught a space near the door, but before he could shut down, Jim was out and striding inside. Blair moaned under his breath, got out and hurried after him.

Jim strode up to the information desk, gave the woman Steven's name and was directed to ICU. He walked to the elevators, hit '4' and waited. The doors slid open and he and Blair stepped in.

ICU was quietly busy. Nurses and doctors, moving silently, equipment sliding down corridors. Jim was about to ask the nurse at the main desk about Steven, when he spotted Henri. He stopped dead.

Blair reached out a hand and touched Jim's back. "Jim, I suggested a guard. Simon agreed."

Jim whirled around, confusion written all over his face. "Why? Why would you do that?"

"I suggested a guard for you as well, Jim. Two incidents? In less than a week? Simon -- agreed, Jim."

Emotions warred with each other and were played out over the normally restrained features. Blair could see anger, hurt, worry and yes, he could see Jim thinking -- like a cop. The cop won.

"I see. Thank you, Blair." And he turned back to the desk. "I'm Jim Ellison, here to see my brother, Steven Ellison."

The young nurse nodded solemnly, "Yes, sir, Mr. Ellison is in Number Four, but the doctor is with him right now, so if you'd like to have seat in the waiting room?" And she indicated a small room behind Blair. Jim looked at the room, back to number four, then back to the room.

Blair tugged his shirt and said, "Come on, Jim. The doctor will come to us when he's done," then he turned to the nurse and said, "You will tell the doctor that Mr. Ellison's brother is here?"

"Of course, sir. I'll send her to you the moment she's finished."

Jim allowed himself to be led to the waiting room where Blair put his hands on Jim's shoulders and pushed him down into a chair. There were no other people in the small room, but a television in the corner was on and Peter Jennings was quietly giving the news.

Waiting. A habit you got used to in the law enforcement world. Blair sat next to Jim, wanting desperately to take his hand, but knowing it would be out of place and probably not welcomed. But god, he wanted to _do_ something for Jim. Anything. No one should have to go through this. A father, then a brother? And who was responsible? Because Blair was certain they weren't looking at a random accident or a simple mugging anymore.

Who would want to hurt Jim in this manner? That they would go after his family? And was Blair making too big a leap in his conclusions?

"Jim? Blair."

Both men looked up to see Simon standing in the doorway, and the expression on his face told Blair that he wasn't leaping far enough.

Simon walked over and put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "You okay, Jim?"

Jim nodded and said, "We're waiting for the doctor. I haven't seen him yet."

Simon sat down, and addressed his detective, "Jim, the news about the accident isn't very good."

"Tell me."

"He was driving down Cliff Road, he apparently lost control, hit an embankment and... "

"Cause?" Jim interrupted.

"I've had the car taken to our impound. Our people are going over it now, with the proverbial fine-toothed comb. But there was a witness. A jogger. She said he wasn't going fast, but that he seemed to lose the ability to make the turn. We're checking the steering, everything."

"And my father?"

"I've reopened the case, Jim. And had it assigned to Major Crime. I've got Peterson and Joel working on every case you've had in the last eight years. Seeing what we can find. Who'd want to do this to you. We'll find him, or them, Jim."

Jim leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands. The idea that his father could be dead, his brother... injured, because of _his_ job. No, it couldn't be...

"Mr. Ellison?"

Jim glanced up to see a woman in green scrubs walking toward him. He stood. "I'm Jim Ellison. How is he?"

"I'd like to give you better news, but his injuries are serious. He's suffered severe head trauma, a fractured hip, his right leg was broken in three places, naturally a myriad of contusions, bruises and cuts. He's currently in a coma, Mr. Ellison. The prognosis is not good."

"May I see him?"

"Of course, you can go in with him now. Talk to him. I believe he can hear you, just keep -- talking to him. There was a woman here earlier... "

"Sally?"

"Yes. Her sister came, I encouraged her to take the woman home. She was in shock."

"Thank you, Doctor... ?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor Hemmings."

The two shook hands, as the doctor led Jim out and over to the room where Steven lay.

Jim didn't look back. Blair started to rise from his chair, but sank back down.

"Blair, everything will be okay. We'll find the people responsible. Jim will be fine."

"Yes, Simon," he responded, unable to say anything more.

*****

Jim stepped up to the bed that held his brother. The lighting was dim and, other than the gentle sounds of machines keeping his brother breathing, monitoring his heartbeat, it was quiet. Steven's face was badly bruised, with bandages over his right eye and on his chin and the only sign of life was the gentle up and down of his chest.

Jim put his hand over the pale one lying on the sheet. He didn't even know who to call. Didn't know what friends, if there were any girlfriends... who to call at Steven's work. Their relationship was too new, still too fragile. A few dinners, lunches, trying to repair old wounds, damages, and now this. He looked around for a chair, spotted it, pulled it up to the bed, and took his seat. He took hold of Steven's hand yet again. And he began to talk.

*****

**Monday -- 8:00 AM**

Blair glanced up at the television set to see Regis Philbin smiling down on him. God.

He'd gotten Jim to eat last night, to go down to the cafeteria, but then he was back in Steven's room. He'd said little, just told Blair how Steven was doing. He'd also suggested that Blair go home, but that wasn't going to happen. Blair wasn't leaving Jim. If he had to set up camp in this fucking waiting room, that's what he'd do.

Another officer was now in front of Steven's room, and as long as Jim remained here, there would be only one officer. Nobody seemed to be counting the newest member of Major Crime, namely Blair Sandburg. Absently, Blair felt for his gun, patted it, and caught himself smiling. Naomi's little boy. Sitting in a waiting room, patting his gun.

From his position, he had a clear view of the glassed cubicle and could see Jim, holding Steven's hand. He could also see the elevator, and the doorway to the stairs. Did this make him the Sentinel's Sentinel?

At that moment that the light over Steven's door lit up, and ICU jumped to attention. Nurses ran toward the room, followed by the ICU doctor on duty. Blair stood and ran the few steps outside and was about to move to the room when Jim was ushered out, his face drained of all color.

Machines were rolled into the room, as Jim sank back against the opposite wall. Blair was at his side in an instant. "Jim?"

"I heard it. His heart... stopped beating. I _heard_ it, Blair."

Blair pulled Jim away from the wall, back toward the lobby, but Jim resisted, his eyes glued to the men and women in the room with his brother, and he watched, transfixed as they worked on him, and he heard Steven's heart, trying to start up, but... but it wasn't working. Blair tugged harder and Jim moved, his eyes never leaving the figures in the room... and it wasn't working... wasn't working... and he could hear it not working...

"Jim. Dial it down -- NOW!"

... and he did, because Blair told him to... and his body gave out, his legs going numb, and Blair caught him and led him to a chair, sat him down, blocked his vision, and his words, washing over him, but he knew...

An eternity later...

"Mr. Ellison, I'm sorry... "

The words were heard, Jim knew what they meant, they penetrated, Steven was gone. Blair led him to the room, so he could _see_ Steven, touch his brother, and little snippets of conversation, of fights, of playing jokes on his younger sibling came back to him... the brunch last week, was it only last week? They'd had a good time, until Jim had told his father about... it had been good, til then... laughing, joking, sharing horror stories, they should have had years of that... years of getting to know one another again...

Blair stood by the door, waiting, watching, tears streaming down his face.

*****

**Thursday -- 3:00 pm**

Blair stood off to the side, as Jim said his last good-bye to his brother. The funeral was over, Steven's friends, co-workers, gone. This funeral had been so different, a second funeral in a week, and the tears had been unbearable.

Disbelief, shock, horror, and so much sympathy given to the one remaining Ellison -- Jim. And of course, the ceremony had been well populated by police. Almost as many _on-duty_ as off.

The investigation into Steven's accident had in fact turned up evidence that his car had been tampered with, and the men and women of Major Crime were working tirelessly to find out who wanted the Ellisons dead. There was no doubt that both the senior Ellison's death and the younger Ellison's death were connected.

Blair glanced around him, noting the two officers off to his right... Jim's current guards.

All the cars were gone, and Jim stood in front of the two graves, buried side by side, father and son. Jim hadn't moved or said anything since the other mourners had left.

Suddenly, Jim turned away from the gravestones and began walking. Blair caught up with him and was astounded when Jim whirled on him.

"No, Sandburg, you go home. Back to the loft. I don't want you with me. I don't want anyone with me right now. Go."

"But Jim, being alone right now... "

"I'll hardly be _alone_ , Sandburg," and he indicated the two men following them. "Go."

He strode off, head bent against the wind, leaving Blair behind, mouth open.

*****

**Friday -- 8:00 am**

Blair and Jim walked into the bullpen to the surprised looks of their co-workers. No one, least of all Blair, expected Jim to go to work the day after his brother's funeral. On the other hand, no one should have been surprised. The people responsible were still out there, and Jim had every intention of being a part of the investigation.

They both sat down at their respective desks, and gradually, over the next hour, fellow detectives made their way to Jim, to express their sorrow, and make their support known. He accepted their comments, even gave out an occasional smile, but his eyes never warmed, his attitude never thawed.

When Simon arrived at nine, he stopped cold when he spotted Ellison. Then he shook his head, walked up to detective and said, "Ellison, my office, now." Jim got up and waving Blair down, followed Simon. Once inside, with the door closing behind them, Jim spoke. "Simon, I know what you're going to say, and I'm staying."

Banks carefully took off his coat, using the act to marshal his thoughts. Blunt or kind? Easy going or rough? This was Jim Ellison. He turned and faced the man.

"You're not staying, Jim. And you are not on this case. Period. If I have to suspend you, I will. Now go home. And if you give me any guff, I'll put you in a safe house. Is that clear?"

Jim found himself gazing at an immoveable object, namely, Simon Banks. But this was too important, and he had to be a part of it.

"Simon, I'm okay. And I _need_ to be involved. I'm under control, but I can't stay home, not while the investigation rolls on."

Simon sat down, swivelled back to his coffee pot, turned it on, all to stall for time. Because he was torn. They could use Jim and Blair. But everything told him that Jim wasn't all right.

"Jim, you buried your brother and your father within a week of each other. No one would be okay. And I'd be a fool to let any detective stay on the job after something like that."

"I'll stay out of the field."

Knowing Jim, that was quite a concession. But it wasn't enough.

"Jim, how's Blair handling this?" It was worth a shot. Get Jim to focus on something else.

"Blair? He's fine," Jim shrugged.

That surprised Simon. Not the response he was expecting, and definitely _not_ Jim Ellison.

"Really? He's fine? His partner, his best friend and, if I'm not mistaken, his lover, has just lost his entire family, and Blair's fine?"

Jim's eyes narrowed at the last part, but he'd find time to deal with Simon, and how he knew about them, later.

"You said it, Simon. _I_ lost _my_ family. Blair hardly knew them. And what he did know, well, let's admit it, they weren't fond of Blair, and I doubt that he was fond of them."

Jim's tone shocked Simon speechless. He stood, forcing Jim to make eye contact, to _see_ his anger.

"Jim, I don't know where the fuck that came from, but the disservice to Blair," and then he stopped, chagrined. Shit. The man had just lost... "You just proved my point, Jim. The Jim Ellison I know would never say anything like that about his partner. Go home. No discussion."

Jim realized he'd lost. He turned tail and stalked out. He walked past Blair, grabbed his coat and headed for the elevator. Simon had followed him as far as the door, and he now made a motion to Blair to follow. Blair jumped up, grabbed his coat and ran after his partner. He just managed to slip inside the elevator before the doors closed.

"Jim?"

"I'm off duty."

"I'm sorry, man."

Jim turned to his lover and gazed down on the upturned face. He saw worry, just -- worry.

"Are you sorry, Chief? Are you?"

"What do you mean? If you mean, do I think Simon is right about you not being at work, I don't know. If you mean something else, maybe you'd just better come out and say it."

The elevator stopped at the fifth floor and two officers got on, forcing the conversation to momentarily end. At three, the officers got off and Blair turned to Jim and asked, "Well?" Jim hit the stop button, and the elevator stalled between the fourth and third floors.

"I'm going home. There's no reason for you to go with me. I think you should go back up."

"No. You may not want me there with you, but you do need me there."

"You always have gotten that wrong, Chief. You've always believed that I needed you, needed you to tell me who I am, what I am. But I don't. And I don't need you now. I'm fine. I'm angry at whomever did this, but I'm fine. When we get to the lobby, I expect you to go back up."

Blair faced front, his emotions shut down, his face impassive. "I don't think so, Jim. I'm your shadow this morning."

*****

**Monday -- 2:00**

Jim and Blair had just come from the reading of William Ellison's will with Jim making it clear that the money was to be given to charity. He wanted none of it. The lawyer had advised Jim to think it over and suggested a kind of time out, since it would take several weeks for the probate, so Jim didn't have to make a decision until then. At that point, Jim left it alone. But when Steven's will was read, that was more than Jim had been able to handle. The merger that Steven had been working on when he and Jim had first met up again had indeed resulted in several million dollars going to Steven. He'd invested much of it back into the company, but the rest had been left to Jim, who, at the news, had thrown a fit and it had taken all of Blair's strength and gentle persuasion to get Jim out of there in one piece.

Blair got him home, and as they walked into the loft, Jim stopped just inside, balled up his hand, and threw his keys as far as he could into the room. They bounced off the stereo and landed on the floor.

Blair made a move to pick them up, when Jim spoke.

"Leave them. And you should leave too. I don't want to say something I might regret later. Why don't you go to the station?"

Blair straightened and turned. "I have work I could do here, Jim."

Jim calmly picked up the small table by the door and hurled it across the room. Blair ducked as it sailed over his head to crash against the wall.

Blair stood his ground.

Jim ripped the coat hanger from the wall, and threw it toward the television.

Blair stayed where he was.

Jim's anger was now palpable. It seemed to flow from him in waves, spreading out, black and deep. He turned and picked up one of the kitchen chairs, held it over his head, then brought it crashing down on the table. It splintered in his hands and crumbled in four large pieces to the floor.

Blair took two steps toward him... Jim held out one hand and said, simply, "no." Then he walked out the front door.

The next two weeks saw the slow and painful breakdown of a relationship. Jim shut himself away, refusing any discussion more meaningful than the weather, work, the case, or other cases. They went to bed strangers, with Jim saying nothing more than absolutely necessary.

The fact that the case was not moving forward wasn't helping. They had no suspects. None. Every case that Jim had been assigned, or even been a part of, had been thoroughly investigated. They even went back to his days in Vice. And they came up with nothing. Nada, zip. But Steven's car _had_ been tampered with. That was real. So the team began to investigate the Ellisons. Father and son. And again, after two weeks, nothing.

At 852 Prospect, a deep freeze had set in. And it was slowly driving Blair crazy. The table had been replaced, by Blair, as had the kitchen chair. They went to bed at night, and Jim rolled over on his side, _away_ from Blair, and he slept. They got up in the morning, ran through their ablutions, with Jim rarely saying a word. He'd answer, if asked a direct question, but that was it. At work they were still a team. But it was an aloof team. With Jim's remarks, questions, or comments relegated to work, the case, a case. Nothing more.

For Blair's part, he'd tried every tactic in his arsenal to get through to Jim. He'd cajoled, pleaded, gotten angry himself, tried sex, tried gentle, tried talking, tried not talking, but nothing worked. Jim was pulling away from Blair as surely as the tide was pulled from shore.

*****

Three weeks and no movement on the case. It was finally decided to remove Jim's shadow, and for the first time since Steven's accident, he and Blair were virtually alone.

Three days previously, Jim had started flirting with the new investigator from Arson. She was a tall, shapely brunette, a transfer from Tacoma. Her name was Mindy.

*****

**Tuesday -- 11:00 am -- three and a half weeks after Steven Ellison's funeral**

Simon still had not assigned any new cases to the team of Ellison and Sandburg, so they found themselves catching up on paperwork, and chasing down paper leads for other teams.

Blair had been at his computer for the last thirty minutes, looking up possible properties owned by one Carl Hedison, when the elevator opened and Jim and Mindy stepped out. They were laughing, and Jim had his arm around her waist.

Blair's fingers froze on the keyboard.

He watched as the two smiled at each other, laughed some more, and as she stepped back and walked down the hall Jim came into the bullpen, whistling, and plopped down into his chair.

"Any luck with Hedison's properties, Chief?"

Blair sat, fingers still frozen. "No."

"Well, maybe we'll have better luck this afternoon. I'm going to go grab a bite to eat, I'll be back in an hour." With that, he got up, took his jacket from the coatrack and walked down the hall, in the direction of Arson.

Blair had been hit quite a few times in his years with Jim. But he'd never been hit as hard as this.

For several minutes, he didn't move. Then, as if a switch had been pulled, he returned to his computer.

*****

**Tuesday -- 5:00 pm**

They had come to work in their own vehicles, and after Jim left to run down a possible lead on the Hedison case for Walters and Bruner, Blair found five o'clock arriving with no Jim. He straightened up his desk, and was about to call Jim on his cell when his own phone rang.

"Sandburg."

"Chief. Don't wait for me. I'll see you at the loft later." And he rang off.

"right," Blair whispered. To no one.

*****

Blair negotiated the streets, ignoring the rain and crazy drivers, his mind on Jim.

Blair Sandburg had just enough insecurity to wonder what he'd done wrong. He worried that the last time Jim had seen his father had been at the marina, for the brunch. And that had ended badly. Did Jim blame Blair? Or had Jim just realized that he didn't care for Blair? The signal ahead turned red and Blair slowed and stopped. He was hurt and angry. He could admit it that now. But something was eating at him... if he could just figure it out... the case? Jim? And his mind immediately flashed onto Jim, with Mindy. At the _way_ Jim had been flirting. Carelessly.

The light bulb went on. Blindingly hot.

Blair slammed his fist down on the steering wheel.

"You bastard."

*****

On the way home, Blair stopped off at the store and as he made his way down the various aisles, he gave himself a stiff tongue lashing.

He _knew_ Jim. Better than anyone, and he'd allowed his own insecurities and fears to blind him to what Jim was doing to both of them. But that ended tonight.

He rushed through the grocery shopping, and tore home, anxious to talk, to get the truth out there, to get his and Jim's life back. And more importantly, to help Jim grieve.

He got inside, got out of his jacket, glad he'd beaten Jim home. In less than ten minutes, he had the groceries put away, the fire lit and dinner started.

He was standing at the cutting board, slicing vegetables, when Jim came home. He looked up from his task and smiled as warmly as possible, considering the dive bombers that were currently buzzing around inside his stomach.

"Yo, Jim. Dinner in twenty. You hungry?"

Jim didn't look at him, just hung up his jacket and started toward the stairs as he answered, "Don't worry about me, Sandburg, I'm eating out."

Sandburg again. Not good when Blair was _Sandburg_.

He continued slicing and dicing, his heart in his throat. Fifteen minutes later, as he was tossing the meat and vegetables into the wok, Jim came downstairs, dressed in his grey sweater and black slacks. He was dressed for an evening out. For a -- date.

Jim was reaching for his coat when Blair asked from the kitchen, "Dinner with Mindy?"

"You got a problem with that, Sandburg?"

Blair carefully and deliberately turned off the fire under the wok, wiped his hands and walked to the edge of the kitchen.

"No, Jim, I don't. You can eat with anyone, _see_ anyone, _fuck_ anyone... you can shut me out, you can barricade yourself behind those newly built walls of yours, and you know what? I'll still be here, Jim."

"Is that what you think I'm doing? Shutting you out?"

"Not think -- _Know_. You forget, I've been _inside_ you, _through_ you, that day at the fountain. I know every inch of you, every dark piece of your psyche, every dank corner, every fear... " He paused, took a deep breath and said, "And. I'm. Not. Going. Anywhere."

Jim put his coat down and walked nonchalantly to where Blair stood. He stopped inches away and looked down at him, his gaze cool and implacable.

"You're a fool, Sandburg. You always have to make it hard on yourself, don't you? You won't let me do this the easy way. I've tried subtle, gentle, but you're just not getting it. No graceful exit for Blair _Table Leg Fucker_ Sandburg, eh? Fine, gloves off." He turned away and once again reached for his coat, slipped it on and with one hand on the door, he said, "Losing my family clarified and magnified what I _don't_ have with you. I've simply joined all the others, Sandburg. All the ones before me, the ones who couldn't find anything in you to love for very long."

Jim's deliberate, bulls-eye striking, scalpel slicing words brought a flush to Blair's face as he swallowed hard and bit back the emotion. He had to blink hard, to keep the moisture back.

Jim turned the doorknob, and Blair said, "Oh, wow, that was good, Jim. I'm not going to be bouncing back from that one anytime soon. But then, isn't that what a wounded animal does, when threatened? Go for the vulnerable spot, the underbelly? And thanks to that little trip at the fountain, you knew exactly where to strike."

"Do you mind if I leave now? I'm going to be late."

"No, go ahead."

Jim opened the door and just as he was stepping out, Blair spoke again, so low and soft, even the Sentinel had to strain to hear the words.

"Just let me ask you one thing, Jim."

Jim stopped but didn't turn.

"Let's just say that you win this war, that you convince me of the truth of your words... let's say, I leave. I leave -- Cascade." Blair faced Jim's ramrod stiff back as he continued, "And one day, I get hit by a truck, roadkill, or I finally take a bullet... and a few hours later, they call my emergency contact -- you."

" _Mr. Ellison? We're sorry to inform you, but Mr. Sandburg died earlier this afternoon... "_ Blair paused, to let his words sink in, then, "Jim, will it be easier for you? Will you be able to handle the call? To hang up, relieved, because I was no longer in your life, in your bed? Will you be able to say, _Thank God I shut him out, thank God he was miles away, out of my life, because I can take this news now, I can live through it, survive. Oh, I'm sad, of course, but it's bearable, because I shut him out, because he's not here._ Will you be able to say that? Will it be true?"

He waited. Jim didn't move, but Blair caught the slight tremor that seemed to move through his body. He went on.

"If it would be easier, if it would save you any of the pain you're going through now, then I'll leave, because I couldn't stand being the source of that kind of pain. So just say yes, or nod, but understand this, Jim," Blair's voice grew stronger, "You _will_ receive that call. And you _know_ that, because you've been inside me, through me, and you know I won't survive without you."

Jim stepped out into the hall and closed the door quietly behind him.

*****

Blair stood without moving for several minutes.

Had he lost? Had he gotten through to Jim? He let out his breath, and with that breath, all strength seemed to ebb from his limbs, and he barely made it to a chair, before sinking down, hands shaking, his breathing coming in short gasps.

Jim's words still hung in the air, and they swirled around the younger man, playing with his mind, diving in and taking root.

What if... what if Jim... didn't -- love -- him...

... joined the others... who couldn't find enough to love...

The loft was closing in on him, stifling him, and he was so hot... need to move, to go outside, to walk, to breathe cold air... to breathe...

He stood so quickly the chair fell over but he ignored it, managed to get to the door, throw it open and he literally ran down the stairs, out the lobby door and onto the sidewalk.

He knelt over, hands on knees and gulped in big lungfuls of air... and it was cold, and it felt good, but he needed to move... he started to jog...

He didn't notice the car pull away from the curb and follow...

He ran several blocks, paused at a signal, jogged in place, waiting impatiently for the light to change, his thoughts empty, his emotions on hold. The light went green, the white walking man flashed and he started across the smaller street. A car came around the corner, the engine was gunned, someone yelled, Blair turned, saw the car bearing down on him, he tried to jump, to leap to safety, and he almost made it, but the bumper clipped his hip and he was down, rolling toward the curb.

His right shoulder hit the cement hard, and he started to get to a crawling position when someone screamed. He looked over his left shoulder to see the back-up lights of the car come on, to hear the engine being revved, and then to see the car spinning back towards him... and he threw himself over the curb, felt hands grabbing at him and felt the air swirl around him as the car peeled past him.

People were in the street, yelling, as the car careened around the corner and disappeared from view.

Blair vaguely heard someone call for an ambulance, and someone else tried to assist him up, but the pain in his hip drove him back to his knees, and as the darkness took over, he thought, "it wasn't jim at all... "

*****

Jim sat in the truck, alone. He'd gotten about five miles from the loft, when he'd called Mindy and cancelled. Now he sat, in the empty parking lot, at Rainier University.

From where he was parked, he could see Hargrove Hall and the fountain. The night lights of the University were on, as well as the fountain lights. He watched the water hit, and dance up, the colored lights sparkling out, the water like colored glass. He opened the truck door, got out, and with a sigh, walked toward the fountain.

He stopped as his knees hit the ridge and he gazed down at the shimmering liquid. So different at night. But it had to have looked like this when Alex brought Blair out of his office. She'd been long gone by the time he and the others had arrived, Blair having been in the fountain for over an hour. Jim knew that, Blair knew that. But no one else did.

Funny, he thought, why Simon hadn't asked about Alex. About how Jim should have felt her presence, known if she was still near... but then, they were trying to save a dead man at the time.

And later? Well, Simon never really did want to learn too much about the Sentinel-Guide thing.

Blair had been dead when they pulled him out.

Dead. Not dying, not just _not_ breathing, but dead.

D - E - A - D.

But for some reason, his soul had remained. Somehow Blair had known he'd come, so had hovered nearby, waiting. But he couldn't have known that Jim would be guided into the spirit world to bring him back, so _why_ had he stayed?

But Jim knew the answer to that one too. Blair had stayed to see Jim one last time. To ask for his forgiveness. One last time. To touch him, one last time. But neither of them had counted on Incacha. Or the power of their bond. Their connection. Their -- love. And Jim had gone in and brought him back. From death, from the other side.

Blair was right. Jim did know every part of Blair Sandburg. He'd discovered, in the merge, every hurt, insecurity, bad memory, and fear that Blair possessed. He'd also learned what Blair valued above all else, namely -- Jim. Of course, most of what he'd learned had been processed and dissected at a later date, with much being _explained_ and forgotten while in the grotto. The information had so overwhelmed Jim that he'd relegated it to his subconscious, until he could deal with it. Which he'd finally done a month ago.

Blair's face swam before him, as he'd looked such a short time ago, as Jim had blasted him with his cruel words. He saw the pain, the doubt, the anguish. And he'd put it there. All of it.

Dear God.

His eyes closed, his hands became fists, and he saw his father, and Steven, and Blair, and they were dead, on cold slabs in the morgue, and when he tried to touch them, Incacha was there, saying no, it was too late this time... and the drawers for his father and brother were closed, and a hand started to push the drawer carrying Blair, but Jim yelled out, "NO!" but the drawer moved relentlessly toward the dark, and suddenly, eyes opened, and dim, sightless blue orbs stared up at him. Jim started forward, but the body said, "Feel better now, Jim?" And the drawer shut...

"NO!" Jim screamed, and his legs gave way and he fell to his knees, hugging himself, swaying, rocking, and all he could say, over and over and over again, was, "blairblairblair... "

*****

The chill got to him. His senses were spiking and the cold seemed to seep inside him, freezing him. He raised his head and gazed stupidly around him.

Nothing had changed.

Except him.

He had been shutting Blair out, trying to hurt him, to force him away, to keep from caring, and thus from hurting. But it wouldn't matter if Blair _were_ years away, miles away, if anything happened to him, Jim would not survive. So the only answer was to keep Blair close, to love him, to hold each day as a gift.

Jim rose, using the ledge of the fountain to haul himself up, his limbs still shaking. He walked unsteadily to the truck, climbed in and drove home.

*****

Lights, sirens, pain. Blair opened his eyes, to see a pair of concerned brown eyes gazing down at him.

"Hey, glad you could join us."

He turned his head and realized he was in an ambulance.

"I, how... "

"We're on our way to Mercy General. Your hip is badly torn up, and you gave your shoulder a good whack. You've got no I.D. on you, can you tell us your name?"

He swallowed with difficulty and managed to get out, "sandburg, blair. can you call someone for me?"

"Sure, who?"

He gave them Simon's name and number, explaining who he was.

"You got it, Detective Sandburg."

The rest of the trip was hazy at best, and the next thing Blair saw were bright, white lights overhead, and he was moving, and people were alongside him, and clever detective that he was, he deduced that he'd arrived at the hospital. But he wasn't shown into a room, instead, his gurney was slid against a wall.

A shot, a voice in his ear, speaking softly, gently...

"Detective Sandburg, there's no treatment room available yet, but the doctor will be with you in a moment, okay? You're fine, stable."

He nodded and thought, _just my luck_ and where the hell was Simon? A sound from his right caused him to turn his head, and it was the television, mounted to the wall in the waiting room and he was close, he could hear the words and see the picture, and he certainly wasn't feeling any pain, felt kinda nice actually, better than he had in days, so he lazily watched the flickering screen, and a face flashed on the set, and he wrinkled his brow because he knew that face... and then it was gone, and there was a commercial, and they were advertising a new perfume... Daisy... and the face, and the word Daisy floated around in his brain... and he saw... a briefcase... the man, in a suit, and he looked weird, and Blair wondered why, after all, he'd seen many a man in a suit... okay, maybe not _him_ , not all that often, but a man in a suit, with a briefcase... not unusual... but it was... and someone was shaking his shoulder and peering down at him, and the lips moved... "Detective Sandburg? I'm Doctor Nielson. How are you feeling?"

"Very cool. No pain whatsoever. Why do you ask?"

The doctor grinned, shook his head and said, "Well, I _am_ a doctor. It's what we do. We ask, you answer, we bill you fifty bucks."

"Well, this time, I have insurance. So ask away and bill away."

"You got it. We'll be moving you into a room in about fifteen minutes, okay?"

"'kay."

Nope, thought the doctor, this young man was in no pain at all. As he started to move away, Blair reached out and grabbed his coat. "Is Simon here yet?"

"Simon? I'm afraid I don't know... "

"Big guy, huge, a bear. Smokes cigars? He'd be huffing and puffing right about now... maybe in the waiting room?"

"I'll have someone check. Is he a relative?"

"Nah, well, he does have this father complex. But someone tried to kill me, see? And I need to tell him. It wasn't Jim at all, and Simon needs to know this."

"Riight. I'll send someone over. Don't you worry." And he patted the young man's arm before walking away.

Swell. It suddenly struck Blair, that in this hall, he was a sitting duck. A mallard. No, a swan.

No, a budgie. A love bird? He giggled. How 'bout a stork? Yeah, a stork. Jim was a bald eagle. He giggled some more. He really shouldn't giggle. It wasn't manly and if someone were to try to kill him, it wouldn't be very good if they found him giggling...

He sighed. The giggles stopped, and his shoulder started to hurt... and then his hip... oh, shit.

*****

Simon strode into Emergency, cigar clamped tightly in his mouth. He was about to go up to the desk, when he spotted the gurney holding Blair. The hall was swarming with people, nurses, aides, interns, orderlies and visitors. Another man seemed to be approaching Blair, but when Simon reached the gurney, the man kept going and disappeared behind one of the emergency room curtains.

"Hey, Sandburg, what the hell happened?"

Blair's head turned from the wall he'd apparently been inspecting, and drugged eyes widened. "Man, am I glad to see you. Someone tried to kill me, Simon. See?"

Before Simon could question Blair, two orderlies came up to move Blair into a room. He held onto Blair's arm, as they rolled him forward, his concern carefully masked behind his best Captain's face.

As they got to the room, one of the orderlies stopped Simon and said, "I'm sorry, sir, you can't go in there."

"I'm Captain Simon Banks, and this man is one of my detectives. Someone tried to kill him and until I get some answers, I don't leave him. Understood?"

The orderly let Simon follow Blair in.

*****

Jim walked up the final flight of stairs, his senses kicking in... No one was in the loft. As he topped the landing, his heart jumped into his mouth.

The front door was wide open.

He pulled his gun, knowing full well the loft was empty, but he was a cop, and better safe than sorry. He edged his way in, and found his home just as he had left it... minus Sandburg. He holstered his gun and walked slowly to the kitchen. The dinner was still on the stove, untouched. Blair's coat was on its peg, and his keys in the basket.

Panic set in.

His words. Blair's face. Dear God.

He was about to turn around, to search for Blair, when the phone rang. He rushed to pick it up, hoping against hope that it was Blair. He nearly shouted into the phone, "Blair!?"

_"Jim, it's me, Simon. I'm with Blair, at Mercy, and don't panic, he's fine. Well, not fine, banged up, but he's okay"_

"What the hell happened?" But Jim was very afraid he knew.

"He was hit by a car. It was hit and run, Jim. Someone tried to kill him."

"I'm on my way." He didn't have to say -- _again_.

*****

Jim drove like a man possessed. He ignored red lights, traffic, pedestrians, and at one point, actually jumped the truck onto the sidewalk. And he'd forgotten to set up the flashing light because all he could think about was Blair, and his last words... _hit by a truck -- roadkill_...

He'd lost his father, his brother, and Simon's words of assurance had done nothing to soothe his worry. All his brain could relay to his consciousness was, notblair-notblair-notblair...

His fingers held the steering wheel in a death grip, his body stiff with anxiety, with Simon's other words, driving him on... "Someone tried to kill him... "

Jesus.

Everyone so busy trying to protect Jim, when it was Blair they were after... whoever the hell _they_ were. There weren't enough insults in the great book of insults to cover Jim's stupidity.

Stupid from the get-go.

He realized he was close and moved into the left lane, and got a blaring horn for his efforts.

And he didn't care in the least that he'd just cut someone off...

The sign pointing him to Emergency was on his left and without signaling, he made the turn, pulled up in front, and ignoring the ambulances, and the _FOR AMBULANCES ONLY_ , he jumped out and ran in...

He didn't have to go far or ask for help, he could hear Simon's voice and Blair's somewhat -- loopy answer, so he simply followed it to the room just opposite the information desk.

"...and we got a good description of the driver. Thanks to a reading group coming out of the Different Drummer Book Store."

"...oh, yeah... I went there. Bought a very important book, The Joy of Gay Sex... very ilmum... iluum... very -- good. Learned a lot. Prol... prbbly... won't need it anymore... s'spect."

Simon cleared his throat and hoped he wasn't blushing. The nurse who was prepping Blair's hip and thigh smiled and choked back a laugh, as she draped the blue sheet over his leg. She patted him gently on the arm and said, "Doctor Neilson will be in shortly to stitch up this wound, okay? How are you feeling?"

He turned away from Simon to look up at the pretty redhead and smiled sleepily... "Oh, just fine, do you get to charge for asking me too?"

She looked hopelessly over at Simon, shook her head and said, "No, I don't think so, but I'll take it up with my union."

"Good, you do that. _Everyone_ should get to charge when they ask me if I'm feeling all right."

She walked out, smiling and shrugging, as Jim walked in.

Blair had been following her and when Jim stepped around her and the curtain, his eyes widened.

Jim stood just inside, still holding the curtain, uncertain of his welcome. Their eyes met and he let the curtain fall behind him.

"You didn't have to actually get hit, Chief. I got the message." He spoke softly, with hesitancy, his expression warm, loving, yet fearful.

Blair couldn't stop looking at Jim. A small smile played over his lips, his brow slightly furrowed in empathy.

"I jumped, Jim. Honest," he finally said. And Simon had the distinct impression that he had become a fifth wheel. He backed out, past Jim, who hadn't even noticed him.

*****

Inside ER #2, a small girl lay sleeping, curled up under a blanket. She'd been brought in by her babysitter, and now waited for her parents to give permission for treatment. She wasn't aware of the man who'd slipped inside her room, or that he waited, still, silent, for an opportunity...

*****

"How far?"

Blair blinked, tried to get his brain around the question, then his expression cleared as the tumblers to the combination to the query locked in.

"Not far enough, it would seem."

Jim smiled, a half smile, but a smile.

To Blair, Jim looked -- lost. His long, black coat seemed to hang from suddenly thin shoulders and his eyes, inspite of the warmth directed at Blair, seemed to swim in need, and the tremor that Blair had observed back at the loft, had now multiplied. Jim was -- distant, unsure, and Blair didn't know how to bring the man in, to ease the way. He gave a small, impatient shake of his head, and Jim asked, tentatively, "You in much pain?"

"No, no pain. Lots of wavy lines, and the damn room won't stop spinning, but no pain."

"How bad... I mean, what... "

"My hip, the fender of the car, kinda ruined my jeans, need stitches."

"Nice hospital. Most won't stitch up clothing, they prefer humans."

Blair made a face and inspiration struck.

"Wanna see?", he invited, much like a kid on the playground might say to his friend when showing off a gruesome injury.

Jim nodded shyly and finally moved into the room, moved closer.

"Yick."

"What, you're not going to say, _It's just a flesh wound, Chief_?"

"I thought _yick_ was -- appropriate."

"Looks real bad?"

"Not if you like a roadmap on your thigh."

"I love a guy with a romantic bedside manner."

Jim grinned again and this time, it made it to his eyes. Blair thought it was the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.

"you back, man?"

One large hand found its way into the hand lying quietly on the gurney and fingers entwined as he answered, "Yeah, yeah, Chief, I'm back."

Jim leaned down, brought his left arm up around Blair's head and rested it on the pillow as his hand brushed lightly against Blair's cheek. Slowly he let his lips touch Blair's, and Blair's lips parted, and the gentle kiss became more as the two men reconnected.

"Ahem... "

Jim lifted his eyes, but not his lips, to see a man standing just inside, a huge grin on his face.

"If you could just move over to this side, you could keep doing what you're doing, while I stitch up my patient."

Jim straightened then, a faint flush starting just above the collar of the gray sweater. He moved out of the way, as he mumbled an apology. Dr. Neilson took Jim's place, rolling the surgical tray to his side. "So, feeling any pain?"

"Ka-Ching!"

The doctor laughed outright and asked, "What are we up to now?"

"Well, if the nurse works on her union, we're up to about $150 bucks."

"That's the HMO limit, I'm afraid, so I've got to resort to this," and he thunked Blair's leg.

"Felt nothing, doc."

"Well then, I'm going to start stitching you up."

Jim had taken Blair's other hand, and showed no signs of leaving. Doctor Neilson showed no signs of caring.

Thirty minutes later, with a flourish, Neilson snipped the end of a very fine knot, dropped the instrument onto the tray, pulled off his gloves and as he dumped them into the waste, he said, "That's it. All fixed." Then he addressed Jim with, "He'll be up and running in no time... with a few rough starts, but with lots of care and the right lubricants, he'll be running as smooth as ever."

And for the first time in weeks, Jim laughed outright. A good, healing, deep laugh with Blair watching, enjoying and not caring one whit that the laugh was at his expense.

As his laughter finally exhausted itself, the doctor added, "You'll be happy to know that there are no broken bones -- anywhere. But I am worried about possible internal injuries, so I'm going to admit you tonight, and we'll see how you progress. Your shoulder is badly bruised, and we'll keep the ice pack on it for a few more hours. If you'll be patient for a bit longer, we'll get you to a room. Any questions?"

Blair was starting to feel the effects of the entire day and his eyes were starting to droop, so Jim answered for him.

"How worried are you?"

"It's just a precaution, uh?"

"Detective Ellison, Jim Ellison."

"...Detective Ellison. I think Detective Sandburg has been very lucky, from all accounts. But we'll monitor him through the night and perhaps release him later tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"My pleasure." As he walked past Jim, he let his hand fall on a shoulder as he added, "He's going to be fine, Detective." Then he was gone.

Jim glanced around the room, spotted the stool, pulled it over, sat down and immediately pulled Blair's hand back into his. Blair stirred slightly, opened his eyes and murmured, "you won't leave, will you?"

"Never, Chief, never leave again."

"good."

*****

He drifted, calm, warm, safe. He could feel Jim's hand over his, knew he was still in the ER, but he was too comfortable to open his eyes. As he lay there, floating, he saw the water, the marina, and -- a boat. A beautiful boat... and on the stern, in black, wavy letters, a name... and somehow, that name was important... he tried to focus... and he could see a _D_... ai... sy... Daisy... The Daisy...

His eyes flew open.

"Oh, god... Jim, I know why."

*****

While the hospital arranged Blair's room, Jim and Simon went to work. And next door, a man patiently waited.

*****

"It's okay, Blair. Rafe and Megan are on it. I do believe you cracked the case."

But Blair's face showed no sign of happiness.

"not in time, never in time... " he murmured.

Jim was kept from answering him by two orderlies who were ready to take Blair to his room. Instructions had been given regarding the safety of this particular patient, and an officer was already stationed at Blair's room. The gurney was wheeled out, Jim at his side.

Blair's room was on the first floor, but at the other end of the hospital and as they began to roll him down the hall, a man stepped out of treatment room #2 and after adjusting his long, black, Misty Blue raincoat, he followed discreetly.

As the group neared another corridor, an emergency code was sent up and the hall they were trying to cross was suddenly alive with personnel. The orderlies stopped, waiting for a break to cross.

Simon had been told at the ER desk that Blair was being transferred to a room, and armed with directions, had started after them. The delay allowed him to almost catch up, and as he spotted them, he also spotted the man, just coming up to the group, and watched in amazement as he pulled a semi-automatic from under his raincoat.

Simon pulled his gun and yelled, "JIM, LOOK OUT!", then, "FREEZE, CASCADE POLICE!"

God,Simon thought, I hate it when that damn slo-mo thing happens.

Jim seemed to move so fucking slowly... as he pushed the gurney across the hall, and stepped between it and the man with the rifle... his arm reaching back, pulling his gun, leveling it on the assassin, and three weapons discharged, and the man in the black raincoat fell back against the wall, blood gushing from two wounds, and Simon had the ridiculous thought that it was good they were in a hospital, because they were used to blood, if not shoot-outs, but then he saw Jim stumble, and his hand, fingers still curled around his gun, come up to his chest, and Simon heard himself say, "oh, god, no... "

He started forward, and people were still screaming, and hiding, and he wanted to yell at them, but instead he screamed that help was needed, and as he reached Jim's side, he noticed Blair, turning on the gurney, blue eyes wide and suddenly alert, as Jim slowly sank down, into Simon's arms, and Blair was struggling, and leaning and then falling... and then crawling... hands outstretched, and Simon started yelling again, because he could see blood, Jim's blood, and Blair's blood...

*****

The hospital erupted in a burst of energy.

Nurses rushed to each of the fallen men, emergency codes were issued, Simon barked orders, patients were ushered back to their rooms, other occupied gurneys were quickly moved out of the way, security showed up, late, guns drawn and Jim kept trying to turn, to look back, to assure himself that Blair was alive. And Blair continued to crawl across the linoleum, in spite of nurses and orderlies trying desperately to control the bleeding and get him back on his gurney.

Simon managed to prop Jim up against the wall, stuff his handkerchief against the wound, as another nurse knelt down and placed her hand on top of the material. Jim was talking, but Simon was having difficulty understanding...

"...up, get... him... blood... help -- him."

Blair. He was talking about Blair.

"It's okay, Jim. Relax, I'll take care of Sandburg." Simon moved quickly to where the orderlies still trying to get Blair up, planted himself in front of the younger man and said, in his best boss voice...

"Dammit, Sandburg, let these people do their job. Jim's fine."

Blair twisted around, craned his neck and responded, weakly, "have to see him, hit hard, let me... "

Enough was enough. Simon bent down, slid his arms under Blair and hefted him up, one orderly holding his leg, then set him down gently, on his back, moved the gurney around and rolled it toward Jim.

Doctors had arrived, and among them, Dr. Neilson who was currently assisting two large male nurses with Jim, getting him on a gurney.

"Let's get these men to ER, stat. Will, call Dr. Petrie, there's a bullet here that needs to come out. I want both men in treatment room A and don't pull the curtain. Now let's move it, people."

Simon stepped back as Neilson took over. Jim and Blair were in excellent hands. Now back to business. He had an assassin to attend to and a man to arrest.

*****

As the gurneys were rolled back to ER, Simon walked to where one doctor was working on the man who'd tried to kill his detective.

Simon's bullet had hit the man high in the back and Jim's had caught him in the chest. Brown eyes stared sightlessly up at Simon, and it didn't take a doctor to tell him the man was dead. But the staff would work on him until they'd exhausted all efforts. And Simon would be there, to check for identification. But first, he had a few calls to make.

*****

Treatment room A was full. Two gurneys, two doctors, three nurses. Two stubborn patients.

As Dr. Neilson re-stitched the gash along Blair's hip and thigh, to much tsk-tsking, Dr. Petrie settled in for a bit of surgery, digging out one bullet from Jim's shoulder, and listening to directions from the young man on the other gurney.

"...no heavy medication, no pain killers... he's very sensitive, okay? just a local... see?"

"...you used a local, didn't you? what's that, what did you just give him? you haveta understand... "

Dr. Jean Petrie glanced up from her work to shoot a quizzical glance at her medical partner, a glance that said both, "What the fuck?" and, "You are so dead."

Neilson just grinned and continued his stitching, as Blair kept up his rant. Jim smiled sleepily. After all, a talking Blair was an alive Blair.

Neilson finished first, tore off his gloves and patted Sandburg's arm. "I was very proud of that last set of stitches, young man, these are even better. And they'd better stay in. Understood?"

The head, which was turned away, concerned blue eyes watching every move Dr. Petrie made, nodded absently. Neilson gave a nod to the nurse, who picked up a hypo and quickly administered the sedative. Blair never felt it.

Dr. Petrie was just finishing her stitches when an orderly came in to move Blair to his room.

"Carl, I've got to make arrangements to get these men in the same room, and their boss is arranging more protection, so let's hold off on any move just yet."

For the first time since being rolled in, Blair took his eyes off of Jim and shot a very grateful glance to Neilson. Then went back to watching his partner.

*****

8:00 pm

The hospital was back to normal, if you didn't count the number of uniformed cops stationed strategically around the place and the two guards sitting outside room 17a.

And inside room 17a, two men argued.

"I can't believe you let him shoot you."

"Let him? LET him? I took that bullet for you, buddy, and just which one of us fell off the fucking gurney? And tore open his stitches?"

"My hero. You schmuck."

"Ingrate."

"...hurt much?"

"No, I did what you told me... I'm dialed down to nirvana. Or would that be up? How 'bout you?"

"Shots, man, shots... there are advantages to not being a sentinel... I get shots and mellow yellow."

"I always knew that about you."

"Clarification?"

"A druggie, from way back."

"High on life, my man, high on life."

"Not today."

"Pharmaceutically induced today, best of the best."

A long silence ensued, the two men staring up at the ceiling of their hospital room.

"This isn't going to work, is it?"

"no."

"Any suggestions?"

"Well... it's my right hip and your left shoulder... "

"And one of us is smaller than the other."

"Jim, I'm so proud of you... to admit something like that. And how many times do I have to tell you... it's what you do with what you've got that counts... not the size. Why, if size mattered to me... I'd be with Paul Endicott."

A pillow sailed across the room with unfailing accuracy and thudded against Blair's face.

"Are we going to do this, you shit, or am I getting my own room?" Jim asked.

"What, you want an engraved invitation?"

Jim snorted, threw off his covers with some care, slowly shifted his legs until they were hanging over the edge, then maneuvered the IV around and using it as a brace, stood and shuffled over to his partner. Blair did his best to scoot, to give Jim room, and as Jim's knees hit the edge of the bed, Blair lifted the blanket and carefully, Jim sat down, the effort leaving him weak and panting, and he could definitely remember a time when a little bullet didn't do this to him... But then a hand on his back, moving up and down, calmed him and he could almost hear Blair smiling.

"Major logistical operation here."

"Yeah, don't I know it. You gonna lie down, or sit up all night?"

Jim craned his neck back and was surprised to see exactly how much room Blair had made. This could really work.

The next several minutes were taken up as the two injured men tried to fit, to get comfortable...

"...yeah, like that, um, right there... that's good."

"You're sitting on the blanket, pull... yeah, okay, we've got it now."

"...maybe if you put your right... um, over my... yep, works for me."

"and you need to shift a bit, on your side... you can do that?"

Blair, with help, managed to get on his left side, as Jim, with his one good arm, tucked him in and, with a sigh, they both settled.

"oh, yeah."

"much better."

"You okay, Jim?"

Jim knew precisely what Blair was really asking. And -- he wasn't, but he would be...

"Don't worry, Blair."

"Right. Don't worry."

Blair's arm tightened around Jim's chest, and he turned his head into Jim, afraid that Jim would see his expression. Facts were facts. And Jim, when he was pulling the pieces back together, would realize just what Blair had done. Or should that be -- hadn't done?

"We should hear from Simon anytime... They have to have made their move by now."

"suppose so."

"You care to tell me again how you put this all together?"

No, Blair didn't want to tell it again, because he could still see Jim's face, in the ER, when Blair had shared what he'd finally remembered and connected.

The flash of relief.

Because Jim had been relieved. And rightfully so... although neither man would give that relief life by talking about it out loud. But Jim was relieved that his job hadn't been the cause of his father's and brother's deaths. And Jim needed to heal, emotionally and physically.

"...later, okay? Kinda -- tired."

Jim frowned a bit, not liking the sound of Blair's voice, but he was feeling a bit woozy himself, so decided it could wait.

*****

9:15 pm

It was over.

Simon walked down the quiet hall, barely registering the few open doors, patients in semi-dark rooms, televisions flickering, or the occassional nurse slipping past him, rubber soled shoes making not a sound. He was eager to get to his detectives, to give them the news.

Efrem Frost was dead.

But not by the hand of a Major Crime detective. He'd been killed by his wife. Shot in the head while he slept. Seemed he'd been unfaithful one or ten too many times.

Simon turned the corner, paused in front of 17a, and noted that the two guards had already been removed. He wasn't sure how much satisfaction Jim would have... a monster like Efrem, dead so easily, while he was asleep, for crissakes.

As in many other hospital rooms, this one was in semi-darkness as well, but no television flickering. Just two men.

In bed -- together.

Simon stopped, uncertain, eyes fixed on the bed closest to the door.

Blair was facing away from Simon, on his side, one arm stretched across Jim's chest, his head pillowed against Jim's good shoulder. Simon let his eyes move over the bodies until he came to Jim and found icy blues staring back at him. He cleared his throat and Jim gave a slight shake of his head.

"...m' awake."

"Yeah, well, we're no longer alone, Chief. Say hello Simon."

"hello, Simon."

"Sandburg."

"You don't mind if I don't -- move, do you? Right now, every muscle, bone and bruise is nicely cushioned."

"Don't mind a bit, don't I always talk to my detectives like this? SOP, Sandburg." He moved to Jim's side of the bed, pulled a chair up and sat down. Uncertain where to look, he concentrated on the blanket. The lower end of the blanket.

"Frost in custody?" Jim asked quietly.

"No, as a matter of fact. He's dead."

Simon gave both men a brief rundown, watching their faces now, noting how Blair surreptitiously moved over a bit, and how Jim, not in the least surreptitiously pulled him back, and how Blair watched Jim's face.

"So it's over. Blair's safe?"

"Yes. We found Corley's briefcase on board the Daisy and the crew practically fell all over themselves to let us know what happened and that they had nothing to do with it. According to the Captain, he was ordered to anchor about three miles out. They remained there for over an hour. One of the crew members saw two men, one matching the description of our shooter today, throwing something overboard. Something that could, according to them, have been body size."

"Has the shooter been identified?" Blair asked.

"One Carlo Conti. Frost's favorite enforcer. And we believe, in reviewing all the evidence we found, he was the one, Jim, who -- killed your father and tampered with Steven's car. I'm sorry."

"All because they were there, on a Sunday, as the Daisy headed out to sea... " Jim's voice trailed off.

"...talking, just talking... " Blair murmured, "not even paying attention... "

Simon stood, sensing that his two detectives had reached the end of their physical and emotional stamina.

"We'll still be tying up some loose ends, but nothing earth shattering. You two rest and I'll see you in the morning." He started to walk around the bed, but he stopped and asked, "Hey, when do you two get out of here?"

"Tomorrow. So the doc says." Jim answered.

"Is that a good idea? Neither of you are capable of taking care of yourselves, let alone each other. Maybe a few more days... "

"nah, Naomi is coming. She'll be here in the morning." Blair gave a huge yawn, then turned a cross-eyed look on Jim, who rolled his eyes heavenward.

"Jim, you'd better watch out... Naomi, as a mother-in-law? And taking care of you?"

"Excuse me, Simon. I don't know what you think is going on here, but, well, I'm heavily under the influence at the moment, and Jim just sorta strolled over here, to, like, hold me down, you know? We're just partners. Not -- involved in any way. right, Jim?"

Simon looked at Jim, who looked at Blair, and then shrugged his shoulders.

"What he said, Simon."

"Riiight. So glad you cleared that up for me, Sandburg. Good night, gentlemen, and Sandburg, keep your hands off. No fair taking advantage."

And with a smile, he walked out -- and closed the door behind him.

As the door wafted shut, Blair gave a little whoosh of air and mumbled, "like I have the energy... sheesh."

Jim pecked him on the cheek and whispered, "you think we fooled him?"

"oh, yeah. He fell for the drug story, hook, line and sinker."

Jim used his good arm to gently pat Blair's head back down onto his shoulder as he said, with his own yawn, "must be why he's the Captain... "

*****

**Wednesday -- 9:30 am**

Naomi walked down the corridors of Mercy General Hospital, searching for 17a. Somewhere in this building, her son lay injured. No doubt his partner's doing.

Blair's message on her voicemail had been brief, and her message back to him, via the nurses station, equally brief.

"Mom, can you come? Had to have some stitches, and can't move around too well... could use you."

"I'm on my way. Get in around 8:30."

Could use you. So typical of Blair. She couldn't remember the last time he'd said that, or its equivalent... Wait, he'd been, what? Six? Seven? He'd come in from playing -- by himself, as usual -- and he'd held up his arm, which had been dripping with blood, bright red, and had said, "Mom? Could you help me, please?"

Could you help me.

Could use you.

But not really his fault. She hadn't been there... so much of the time. So naturally, he'd come to depend on himself, just as she'd wanted. And it had left her lonely, seeing her son only a few times a year... and then -- screwing it up. But he needed her now, because of a few stitches... And knowing her son, a few stitches and can't get around too well probably meant he'd been shot seventeen times, and was one massive stitch.

Let go.

She could do that.

In a pig's eye.

His room, finally. She walked in, fully expecting to see her son hooked up to god awful machines, near death. What she hadn't expected -- was Jim. In the opposite bed, left arm bandaged, and her son, in his bed, and both arguing with the television set as they ate their breakfast. She stopped inside, hands on hips.

"Well."

Blair turned his head, forkfull of eggs poised mid-way to his mouth and smiled a half smile.

"Mom, you made it."

"Of course. And how did this happen?"

Blair didn't miss the accusation in his mother's voice, and he was certain that Jim hadn't either. The fork was set carefully down as Blair gave a panicked glance at his roommate, took a desperate gulp of juice, wiped his mouth...

"Now, Naomi, this had nothing to do with police work. And Jim was hurt protecting me, so get that look out of your eye, and that tone from your voice," then belatedly, he added, "please."

Naomi took three cleansing breaths, sat down opposite her son, scrutinized his face, then let her eyes move down his body, noting the bandaged leg resting on top of the blanket...

"So how did this happen? I'm ready to listen."

"Just an accident, mom... hit by a car crossing the street. Then, yesterday, there was a minor scuffle in the hallway, I was kind of stuck, on the gurney... so Jim put himself in the middle and wham! He's now my bedmate."

She frowned... obfuscating -- again.

"And what could have happened in the middle of a hospital hallway, Blair?"

Blair had been ready for this... oh, yeah.

"Okay, it did have something to do with police work, but not our police work. A -- bit of a fight broke out... guns, shots, and Jim, well, he planted himself between me and the gun... and was shot. So give him a break. You owe him."

Blair wasn't above using guilt -- if it worked for Naomi, it could work for him, and until he could take her aside, fill her in properly... well, a small, white, harmless -- shading of the truth -- and a reminder, couldn't hurt and judging from the look on his mother's face... it had worked, in spades. And he didn't feel in the least bit guilty himself.

"I really hated to call you, mom, but the doctor said he'd release us this afternoon, and neither one of us can... "

"I'm not blind, dear. And I'm more than happy to help. Don't either of you worry one bit. I'll take care of everything."

Guilt. The most powerful tool in the mother-son arsenal. Naomi's tone had done a complete 360... and now fairly dripped with honey. And sincerity.

"Thanks, mom. Really." And he gave her his most dazzling smile. Of course... he still had to tell her about him and Jim. Maybe he shouldn't have played that guilt card so early...

*****

**Wednesday -- 2:00 pm**

"Careful, that's it, a bit more... there."

Naomi guided Blair down to the couch, taking his crutches as he settled back, slowly and carefully. Behind him, Jim made himself comfortable on the couch opposite. Naomi straightened and with hands on hips, surveyed her charges.

"Not so difficult. In spite of my son's refusal to use a wheelchair."

"I don't need... "

"Yes, you do. But I'm strong, healthy, don't worry about me -- or my back."

Blair glanced over to his lover, eyes pleading for him to say something... But Jim took his index finger and wrote an imaginary one in the air.

"Naomi Sandburg -- 1, Blair Sandburg -- 1. It's a tie, Chief."

Guilt... double edged sword.

*****

Jim was dozing, warm, semi-comfortable, missing Blair by his side, but making do with the sound of his heartbeat, a few feet away, and his even breathing, which signaled a deep sleep.

Jim felt almost -- human. The ache in his soul, the words he had stored inside him, words he'd planned to share with his father, floated around his brain, but no longer hurting, no longer so insistent on being heard. The only truly painful wound, was the need to tell his father that he loved him, and to hear those words in return.

Jim knew that his father had loved him, but hearing the words... that had suddenly become important to him. And now -- those words were stilled forever.

His eyes flew open... had he said them to Blair? Ever? Had he, James Ellison, ever actually said, "Blair, I love you", had he? Dear God.

He rolled his head, eyes fixing on Blair, drinking in the sight, his face, calm in sleep, one arm dangling over the edge of the couch, his leg propped up per doctor's orders, hip cushioned by a pillow... and Jim noted the dark circles under Blair's eyes, and skin still too pale, and a certain -- gauntness... and he had to accept the fact that he was responsible for all of it. Suddenly, he had to touch Blair. The need to connect so strong it was almost painful. He started to struggle up, but strong hands were there, helping him and he gazed up into Naomi's face, into eyes so like her son's and he saw something in them...

"I, uh, sorry, Naomi... " he said, softly, not wanting to awaken Blair.

"It's all right, Jim. I was -- watching you. You looked so peaceful, then your face, changed and I could see such pain... are you okay?"

He swung his legs around and sat up, with her help, then let his back rest against the cushions.

"I'm -- fine. I... Blair hasn't told you everything, Naomi."

"You're kidding? Really? What a surprise." Her small grin told him she was perfectly well aware of her son's obfuscations.

"I didn't think he was fooling you -- but then, neither did he... it was just a stalling -- tactic. And he was protecting me."

Naomi didn't respond, instead her hand went out to his arm and began to stroke gently, encouragingly...

He glanced down and away from her gentle eyes, as he began to speak...

"Naomi, a few weeks ago, while waiting for me to arrive, my father, brother and your son, saw something... something they shouldn't have, it was so stupid, so totally stupid... and it got my father and brother killed, almost got Blair killed... " At his words, Naomi's hand tightened around his arm, but still she didn't speak, knowing he had to get it all out...

"...so stupid... and nothing anyone could do... and now, my father is dead, my brother is dead... and I almost destroyed your son, destroyed what we... "

"What you have together... I'm not blind, Jim."

"So, you -- know."

"I guessed. Now I know."

They smiled briefly at each other, then both looked over at the sleeping man on the other couch.

"You shut yourself off, didn't you? Tried to protect yourself... "

"Yes. Too much caring... too much hurt. Only succeeded in hurting more... The simple truth is -- I can't live without him, Naomi. He's managed to invade every part of me."

"This is a bad thing?"

"I thought -- it was. For awhile. No one should have such -- power."

"And if it's shared? Mutual? Don't you believe you have the same power over him?"

Jim could hear Blair's words again... spoken to him just two nights ago...

"...you will receive that call. And you know that because you've been inside me, through me and you know I won't survive with you... "

Was it even -- power?

"yes... I do... and don't. If it's mutual, is it power, Naomi?"

"This power thing, it really worries you? Bothers you? Why? The loss of control it implies? The loss of control you would experience if someone had that kind of power over you?"

He had to think about that for a minute, but before he could really wrap his brain around it, she asked, "Do you really believe that my son has such control? Or is it simply... being loved by him? Knowing that this time... it's not going away. You've had proof of this, you know it's forever with him. Forever, Jim. And you've never had that."

Forever. God, how that sounded. It sounded -- fucking fantastic. Forever with Blair Sandburg.

Now that was a word he could wrap around his brain... forever with Blair beside him, in his bed, in the shower... eating, working, patrolling their city... and knowing that that was where Blair wanted to be... more than anywhere else, more than with anyone else... and Naomi was right... he'd never had that. He'd had -- conditions. Always conditions. Until -- now.

Not once, in three years, had Blair tried to attach any conditions to their friendship. Not once. And not once had Blair attached any conditions to his love. It was just -- there. Like the sun, predictable, warming, bringing light...

"I'm sorry about your father and brother, Jim. So very sorry." Her words were quiet, gentle, from the heart, and he felt the hot moisture threaten, and then she whispered, "it's alright to let it out... for them, it's alright." And he did. The tears fell, and Blair's mother took him into her arms, wrapped her arms around him, held tight, rocking slightly, not saying a word, just holding... letting him grieve...

*****

**Sunday 11:00 am**

Pots.

Clanging.

Jim cracked open one eye... then the other.

"...it's mom."

The voice came from somewhere to Jim's right... sort of.

"...she's, um, kind of... changing things around."

Jim lifted his head and peered over at his partner, who looked half awake, hair a tangled mess, and Jim suddenly found himself -- hungry. For Blair.

There was nothing he enjoyed more than Blair -- just waking up. Something he'd missed lately, his early morning observance of his favorite blanket.

"She's changing what around?"

"...your, um, kitchen."

Jim sat up, slowly and with some difficulty, swiped a hand over his face and back over his hair and with some dread, checked out the kitchen.

And immediately wished he hadn't.

"...you shouldn't -- have looked, Jim."

"Thanks."

Pots -- pans, dishes, cups, glasses... strewn all over the sinks, counters, the kitchen table... and Naomi, in the middle, a pot in her hand, looking desperately for a place to put it... and her eyes spotting him and Blair... and Jim could just see the two of them, buried under pots and pans... for all eternity.

"You're awake, " she said cheerfully.

"um, yes. And you're busy."

"Feng Shui."

"Bless you."

Blair laughed outright and immediately turned it into a suspicious cough as Jim gave him a dirty look, and Naomi gave Jim a surprisingly dirty look -- well, dirty for a flower child.

"What? What did I say?" he finally asked, helplessly.

Blair managed to regain control his laughter, cum coughing fit, long enough to answer, between gulps.

"Feng Shui, Jim. It's a 7000 year old Chinese art based on harmony and balance in one's environment. Feng means wind and Shui is water... see? Two of the most fundamental forms of life energy. Mom, is, um, rearranging your kitchen to harness the forces and provide you with harmony and balance."

"Harmony and balance. I -- see."

Naomi had been kneeling in front of one of Jim's cupboards, peering inside and marveling at the cleanliness when she heard Jim's response. She stood, raking her fingers through her hair and smiled over at him.

"After I'm done here... I'll move it into the living room and then your bedroom. Bathroom is already done. Not that there is much to change, but I did change the towels etc... and a few other items... moved them about a bit... You're gonna love it, Jim. And it would be my recommendation that the small window over the shower? A lovely stained glass pane would just make all the difference in there... truly harmonic." She immediately bent down again... and began to pull stuff out...

"Stained glass... in the bathroom," he mused.

"don't worry, jim. i'll move everything back after she's gone... you'll never hardly know she messed up your home," Blair whispered, a tinge of anxiety in his voice.

Jim had the urgent need to monitor Blair's heart... and wasn't surprised to hear it's hard, fast beat... he was afraid. And what's with this, your shit.

"Hey," and he gave his head a little nod, "You think if I moved over there, and you put your leg on me, bolstered by that pillow, you'd still be comfortable?"

Blair frowned a bit, uncertain, but he nodded as he answered, "I'd be comfortable."

Jim hauled himself up, as he called out to the kitchen, "Naomi? Could you give me a hand here?"

Naomi stopped her rearranging and hurried into the livingroom, "What?"

"Help me lift Blair's leg?"

Together, they managed to get his leg up, with little to no discomfort, and to get Jim down, with the leg resting across his thighs.

"Oh, yeah, that works. Much better. Thanks, Naomi."

"My pleasure. Either of you two boys need anything? Chocolate milk? Cookies? Playboy Magazine?"

Two sets of outraged blue eyes flared up at her...

"Playgirl?"

"MO-OM!", both men exclaimed at the same time.

She bent and dropped a kiss on Blair's forehead, hiding the grin and winking at Jim before she walked back into the kitchen.

Jim let her get just to the edge and then, "Actually... milk and cookies sound great. Oreos... Naomi, would you mind? The store?"

"Of course... I was going to go later anyway, but I can go now... there're a few things this place needs... "

"MOM!"

"Hush, Blair. I'm joking. And I'm off and you two behave in my absence."

As she pulled on her coat and took Blair's keys, Jim said, "And... go ahead, get some chocolate milk and -- Playgirl."

*****

The silence that greeted Naomi's exit for the store was almost -- nice. Except, Jim had arranged it for a reason. He glanced at Blair, who's eyes were closed again, but Jim didn't miss the small throbbing vein in his temple.

"Blair, I don't mind what your mother is doing, if you don't."

Blair's eyes remained closed, but as Jim pulled Blair's clenched fingers into his hand, and gently unclenched them, Blair said, "I tried, Jim... but she still doesn't -- listen. But I swear, I'll put it all back myself."

"Blair," he said, softly, "Did you hear me? I said, I don't mind if you don't. This is our home. Ours. And Feng Shui sounds -- interesting. And -- harmonic. And... "

"Balanced?"

"Yeah, that."

Blair finally looked at Jim, and when he realized that all that he was seeing was... love, he blinked a few times, and took in several deep breaths...

"Jim, don't look at me like that. It's no good."

"Number one, how am I looking at you and number two, what's no good?"

"You're looking at me... like... you know. And it's no good, because... oh, hell, Jim. This is hard. I could really use both my legs right now."

"Why? So you'd be able to run away?"

Blair was clearly taken back by that observation, and the air whooshed from his lungs before he answered.

"No... I wouldn't... but a good pace would be nice right about now. Jim, obviously you haven't thought about it yet, but... I blew it." And Blair carefully extricated his hand from Jim's.

"Blew what?"

"I'm a cop now. I should have recognized Corley and Frost. Your father and brother shouldn't have died. The pieces were there, I just didn't see them... in time." The last was whispered out so quietly, so... hopelessly, Jim winced. So this was what had been bothering Blair... well, he would have to take care of this, now, then they could discuss home, their home, and love and all the rest...

"So when you saw those two men at the Marina, you knew who they were?"

"Well, no... but at the hospital... saw the news from the hall, remember? And they showed a picture of Corley, and that he was still missing... "

"I see. And when did you ever see Frost? Before the Marina, I mean."

Blair's face scrunched up in thought, and if the discussion weren't so serious, Jim would have leaned over and kissed the man... "Never, until the -- hospital. When Simon brought those mugshots... "

"So you had never seen pictures of either man, before the hospital, right?"

"yes... yes."

"So how did you fail? I wouldn't have recognized them, either of them, if I'd been there, with you, at the Marina... and everything that happened would still have happened. And it did just happen, Blair. No one's fault. Not yours -- not mine, not my father's and not Steven's."

"...no one's -- fault."

Jim shook his head and mouthed the word no. Blair's whole body seemed to relax, to loosen, as he shut his eyes again, tightly, and Jim could see the bit of moisture escaping... and bum arm or not, he used his good right arm and slid it under Blair and brought the man to him, heard the gasp, and shifted, hoping to ease any discomfort, but Blair's arms, moving around his neck, told him it didn't matter...

"I don't remember if I've ever said this... but I love you, Blair. You do know that, right?"

"I -- yes."

"Had to get it out... you know?"

"Yes. And Jim? He loved you. Loved you so much. And he was proud. While we waited, in the bar, it's all he talked about. His son, Detective of the Year. He loved you."

Jim buried his head in hair, breathing in Blair's scent, his own heart now beating fast... Because he did know. His father had loved him, had done what he thought was right -- all those years ago. And he and Steven... they'd patched it up -- thanks to the man in his arms, they'd become friends again, and brothers. And Jim wasn't alone, even now. He had his father and brother in his heart, and while he could wish that he and his father could have talked about Blair, come to an understanding, the truth was that ultimately it didn't matter.

Because Blair was his life.

"You know, those things I said... to you, here... "

"Ssh, I know. Didn't happen." Blair stopped Jim from trying to go on by planting his lips on Jim's. They kissed lightly, but gradually the kiss intensified... and it had been so long... and it felt so fucking incredible...

Jim had to pull away, take in great gulps of air, his eyes half slits... "Where are we going with this, Chief?"

Blair was concentrating on Jim's neck, kissing and licking, and barely out of breath.

"uh, upstairs?"

"You're on crutches... um, that's good, right there, and your mother... you have the most talented tongue... is due back any second... "

"...which is why we should go upstairs... and with you helping me, and me helping you... we can make it... "

"...oh, yeah, all the way... we can make it all the way... "

Except -- Naomi chose that moment to enter the loft, arms full of groceries.

"Got the chocolate milk, got the Oreos, and Blair, honey, do you still like those Nutter Butters? And you can forget the Playgirl... I got one way better... "

"MO-OM!" Two men chorused.

*****

**Three weeks later -- Sunday 4:40 am**

Jim didn't know what had awakened him... but suddenly, his eyes were open, wide open. He quickly monitored the man sleeping next to him, or rather, on him, and found soft, even breathing. He sent his senses out... and discovered -- nothing.

But he was awake.

One hand began to absently stroke the strong back under his arm, as he contemplated why he might be awake. He glanced over to the nightstand, noted that it was almost five in the morning... a Sunday morning... and he grinned.

A wicked grin. Because he knew.

"Blair? Come on, sleepy head, wake up... " and he jostled the body...

Blair shifted, groaned... "uh? wha'?"

"I'm awake. You gotta help me out here."

"...you're awake... I'm not. Ever hear of tough love?"

Jim's hand moved down Blair's bare back, down into the dip of his lower spine, up over the swell of his butt... ghosted over the firm, soft flesh...

"please," he crooned...

The head lifted as sleepy blues regarded him.

"You won't regret it," Jim promised.

The head shook, wild curls gently slapping Jim's face, "I don't like it when you say that... I always regret it."

"...not this time, promise. Go with me on this."

At Blair's hesitant nod, Jim moved him over and slipped out of bed. He padded over to the closet, pulled out sweaters, one for him, one for Blair, grabbed the jeans from the chair, threw one of each over to the still grumpy man, who was now sitting up, legs crossed, rubbing his hair and yawning.

"Aw, man... we gotta get dressed to do this?"

"We're going outside, doofus. Dressed is protocol... now hurry up."

They pulled on clothes, one man considerably slower than the other, as he continually eyed his soft, warm bed... but finally he was dressed and following Jim downstairs. They both detoured into the bathroom, and ten minutes later, Jim was ushering a complaining Blair out the door.

Outside, Jim steered Blair toward the Mustang, opened the passenger door and pushed him in, then he pulled the top down.

He bounded into the driver's seat, started it up and drove off.

*****

Jim pulled into Widow's Peak, parked nose in overlooking the bay, shut down and sat back.

The sun should be up shortly...

"okay, I'm awake, we're here... now spill."

Jim turned in his seat, and smiled mischieviously. "Well, you're here to help me with a fantasy."

"A fantasy?"

"um... you, me, this car, overlooking the ocean... "

"Jim, we did that. Remember?"

"In the back seat. My fantasy is the front seat." Jim began to move forward, a very predatory gleam in his eye, a gleam that even Blar could see in the pre-dawn... he scrunched back... "Jim? You could hurt yourself... you could hurt me... knobs, gearshifts... steering wheel... dashboard... Jim? Come on, man... that look... FUCK!"

Jim was on him, ripping, tearing... and Blair couldn't help it, he was laughing, hilariously, as his sweater was torn from his chest, and with his jeans, thrown out the window...

"jim, man, how in the hell... how do i get home... you've ruined my... AHHHHH!"

Jim was the man with a thousand mouths... and Blair was feeling them -- on every inch of his body... Jim's hands, his tongue, his lips... his hands on his hips, lifting him up... and somehow, it didn't seem fair... because Jim was still fully clothed... not fair at all... but Blair soon forgot that as Jim started to prepare him, and he realized just what Jim's fantasy was -- exactly... and he watched as Jim released his straining cock...

"...shit... oh, god, you'd better be able to do this, and no... ah, yes... fuck, yes... " and Blair's left arm was clenching the back of the seat, and his right was gripping the windwing, and he was thanking god for old cars and windwings... and he was being lifted, positioned, his head half out of the car... hair hanging down... "...no complaints about gearshifts... how the hell are you doing this?"

But Jim was doing it... was pounding into him, and thank god for convertibles... because somehow, Jim was straddling the gear shift, and he was driving into Blair, and he leaned even further into Blair, his left hand now up against the door, and Blair had to crane his neck, to see Jim's face, and they were only inches apart, so Jim dipped down, latched onto Blair's lips, drank in the breath Blair had just exhaled...

The kiss was as intense as the sex... deep thrusts, tongues curling, Blair sucking deeply, relishing the groans that were torn from Jim... and Blair didn't have to worry about his own cock... it was trapped and getting the loving of its life... and the friction, against Jim's stomach...

Jim shifted again, raising his own hips to hit Blair's prostate... and smiled into the kiss as Blair nearly screamed into his mouth, as his hips bucked furiously, and he came, hard, jerking, his head trapped, his mouth trapped, and Jim continued pumping, relentlessly, and he captured Blair's tongue now... pulled it in, loved it, sucking... moaning in delight, with a vague thought of setting the brake... yes, he had... and who cared, because he opened his eyes, saw the beautiful face below him, flushed, sweating, hair plastered in wet curls around him, every muscle and tendon stretched to capacity... and it was all that he needed... he came with one final thrust... Blair's name passing from his mouth to Blair's...

*****

Blair sat stretched out in the back seat, watching the sky for the first sign of dawn with Jim's head pillowed in his lap, knees drawn up and softly snoring. Ah, life.

Both men had climbed into the back seat once brains and bodies had come back together in the semblance of the humans that they were, and had promptly fallen asleep. Fortunately, Blair had come to first and now enjoyed waiting for the first bit of color to light the sky, as well as watching Jim sleep. He let his head fall on the back of the seat, his right hand lightly stroking through Jim's hair, as his left hand drew small circles on Jim's right hip.

"what, no artistic rendering of one of our body parts?"

"Hey, you're awake. And no, no body parts today."

Jim started to sit up, but a hand on his chest and a query from Blair halted the move.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I was going to sit up. No?"

"No. I like you fine, right where you are. I woke up first, I get to look my fill."

Jim smiled and settled back, feeling the small ridges of tummy, of soft, kinky pubic hair, Blair's spent cock and the scent of their lovemaking, of sweat, and he couldn't imagine a better place to be than with his head cradled in Blair's naked lap.

"It's starting. Can you see it from there?"

Jim nodded, craning his head back a bit, and taking in the slight pink that had begun to creep across the sky above him.

Silently, they watched, their breathing in near sync, Jim's hand running up and down Blair's leg, his other hand hooked around the arm that was giving his hip such comfort. He opened his hearing, let all the sounds filter through, one at a time... the waves as they crashed against the shore and slipped over rocks on their way back out, the air itself, moving around him, through tree branches, rustling softly, even through Blair's hair with the merest whisper, and the birds, as they vied for the title of early bird and the biggest, fattest worm, and he thought he could hear every feather as each brushed against another, and every wing, as it fluttered, and the individual chittering and chirping, and finally -- the sound of Blair. Of his breathing, easy, rhythmic, the heart, so steady and comforting, and the blood, circulating through veins, so close to Jim's head, even Blair's stomach, as it made known its need to eat.

This was his life now. And all that he needed, or wanted.

He could try to use words like -- serene, or -- tranquil, or the old stand-by -- happy, but they just didn't cut it. Because there were no words. No author could find one, no poet. And then Jim realized with a smile that one person had found the word -- Naomi. And the word was -- Blair. He chuckled softly, thinking how his friends would react at this rather -- romantic thinking, from him.

"Hey, what's so funny?"

"Would you believe me if I said -- you?"

"Always. Blair Sandburg, Shaman joke of the Great City."

"Now, you're only a joke in the morning. Do you realize just how many directions your hair can actually travel in, after a night's sleep?"

Blair laughed quietly, the sound rumbling through Jim's head, as Blair said, "Oh, yeah. That's why I have trouble understanding this need of yours to watch me sleep. But then I realize -- masochist, and I'm all right with it."

Jim tore himself from the haven that was Blair's lap, turned and joined him, shoulder to shoulder. "I watch you because -- you're beautiful. No matter how many directions your hair may go."

Blair snorted at that and rewarded Jim with a poke in the ribs. "Right. I was correct the first time -- you're a masochist."

Jim turned in the seat, brought both hands up and placed them on either side of Blair's face, turning him so they faced each other. "You really don't know, do you? You don't have a clue."

Blair eased back, his face mirroring discomfort and puzzlement. "Know what?"

"How -- okay, I'm going to say it, I'm going to use the B word... how beautiful you are."

"Jim, man, you're just in love. Thank God."'

Jim frowned, totally unprepared for this kind of response from the ex-lady killer sitting next to him. "And all those ladies, you know the ones, that used to swarm around you like moths... what, they were just attracted to the flannel?"

"Hey, man, flannel is the musk of the clothing world. And it was the hair, always the hair. Before I let it grow, I couldn't get a date to save my life. Why do you think I'm always refusing to cut it?"

"I see. So no one ever mentioned the lips? Your eyes? That chin?" He would have gone on, but Blair burst out laughing, and then, because he was laughing hard, he doubled over. His left hand started flailing about, searching for an anchor, and it latched onto Jim's leg, gripped hard and Jim thought Blair would actually choke, so he started slapping him on the back, which just made Blair laugh harder.

Jim was starting to get a little upset, and he'd missed the sunrise. Not that looking at Blair wasn't enough, but hell, his looking wasn't in the least bit appreciated.

Blair finally stopped laughing outright, but he was still chuckling and smiling, like a fool, and shaking his head. "Jim, Jim, Jim... eyes? Lips? CHIN? I'm a short, jewish guy, with kinda blunt features, who, thank god, inherited Naomi's eyes, but other than that, well, blinded by love, my friend, blinded by love."

Now Jim was mad.

"John Carlton," he challenged.

Blair quirked an eyebrow and said, "John Carlton?"

"John Carlton. Detective John Carlton. Kept showing up at Major Crime, hanging around, sitting on my desk, playing with my pencils, asking my guide all about his life, anthropology, all the tribes he'd visited... and this from a man who believes the only good tribe is a football tribe."

"Ooo-kaaaay. John Carlton. Helluva nice guy."

"And you think he was hanging around -- why? And Rafe? Always trying to tag along, but only when you were with me. And how about Cynthia Rodriguez? Remember her? Almost fainted each time she came in to deliver something for you? And you are the only one who can get any of the researchers, male or female, to bring us files... why do you suppose that is? Uh?"

"Because I'm a helluva a nice guy? And I say thank you and please, unlike the rest of you cretins? And Rafe tagged along for you, to learn from the best, and Cynthia had the hots for Megan, you idiot."

"Do you know what I had to tell Cynthia, to get her off your back? I told her you had three wives in Africa, from the Morundi, and between them, you had ten children. And Rafe stopped tagging along because I told him the score, and let's talk about Megan, shall we? That kiss, the lip, her bite?"

"You told Cynthia I had ten children?" Blair asked incredulously.

"You wanna know what I told Carlton to keep him from my guide? I told him you were going to Europe for a sex change operation and that when you came back, you were going to live with your lover, Cecilia."

Blair's frown deepened, then right before Jim's eyes, it was swept away by the most fucking briliantly beautiful smile as Blair said, "Oh, man, Ellison, I love you. And I can't believe we are arguing about my looks at, " he lifted Jim's arm to peer down at his watch, "...at five fucking forty-five in the morning, with me buck naked, you fully clothed except for your zipper and the little Captain, who's not so little at the moment, and the top is down and we're about to get caught by early morning joggers which would result in one hell of a headline, not to mention a great front page photo and I'm thanking god that love is blind."

Jim glanced down at his crotch and was happily amazed that there was life left in them thar hills, and decided there was just one way to convince Blair of his beauty, so he leered, which caused Blair to say, "Oh, no you don't, Detective Ellison, you get that look right out of there, right this minute... " but it was too late as Jim had already bent down and was begining to lavish attention on the little professor cum detective, which in turn was coming to life rather nicely, and Blair found himself stretching his arms out, gripping the door, the seat, any thing to hold on, as he looked frantically around them, checking to see if they were indeed, about to be busted, but then he didn't really care, besides, he could always hide behind Jim's back in the photo, and then he was flying, and really hoping that the tires on the Mustang were good, he knew the shocks were...

*****

"I look -- stupid."

"Are you dressed? Do you want those banana pancakes or not?"

"Yes. But Jiiimmmm."

"You look -- c--fine. Now shut up and get out. I'm starved."

Blair fumbled with the handle, pushed the door open and as he stepped out, Jim could hear his mutterings... "don't know how he could be hungry... considering what he ate this morning... and he just thinks he can push me around... " and Jim promptly gave Blair a little shove, and hid his smile at Blair's outfit...

When they'd tried to reconstruct Blair's clothing earlier, they'd quickly given up on the shredded sweater, leaving him only in his jeans, which was fine, except that both men were hungry, and Molly's Diner was just up the road and she served the finest pancakes in the western hemisphere, so they raided the trunk and found only Jim's coat, thrown in after fixing a flat tire just after getting the Mustang, so now Blair was walking around in jeans, tennis shoes with no socks, and a greasy coat two sizes too big for him. He looked like a vagrant that Jim had taken pity on... he also looked cute, which Jim would never, ever, in a million years, tell him.

Once inside, Blair walked over to a table in the darkest corner and sat down -- facing away from the rest of the diner. Stifling his laughter, Jim sat opposite and quickly hid behind his menu.

After the waitress took their order they were silent, each buried in their own thoughts.

Blair was worried because there was still something that Jim wasn't facing. Steven's money. He'd finally convinced the lawyers that his decision to give his father's money away was going to stand, and they'd begun to administer it to all of the charities that the senior Ellison had supported. But that still left Steven's.

Blair opened up his napkin, held out his hand, snapped his fingers and said, "Come on, give. I need a pen."

"Left hand pocket."

Blair patted the pocket of the coat and sure enough, a pen. "You are amazing."

Blair began to scribble furiously.

"What are you doing?"

"Jotting down some ideas. For you."

"On... "

"Just a minute, keep your shirt on... "

"Strange, coming from you."

A sugar cube hit Jim square on the nose.

He tried to peek, but Blair was all hunched over, his hair and one hand cupped up around the paper preventing even Sentinel sight from figuring out what he was writing.

Finally, the pen was lowered and Sandburg heaved a great sigh and said, "Now, you've got to listen to me, Jim."

"Don't I always?"

Fingers crawled to the sugar bowl, but a fork landing on knuckles stopped them.

"Spill, Sandburg."

"Okay, here." He handed over the napkin. Jim took it, and started reading.

Blair wanted to look away, look anywhere but at Jim, but he couldn't. He'd just jumped, without a parachute, and he expected the landing to be rough. What he didn't expect, was Jim, taking the pen, scratching out a couple of things, writing down a couple of things, then setting the pen back on the table. He stared at the napkin for a few minutes, as Blair held his breath, then lifted his face to Blair, eyes shining with both love and tears and said, "Thank you."

"It's okay, then?"

"Almost perfect. I made a few changes. Here, " and he pushed the paper over to Blair.

Blair read what was now printed on the flimsy paper...

-Set up trust funds at several colleges and universities in both William and Steven Ellison's names

-Contributions to:

The James Cleeson Aids Hospice

The new Aids Research Wing of Cascade Memorial Hospital

The Mt. Rainier Children's Hospital

The Elizabeth Brooks Foundation for Abused Children

The new pediatrics wing at Mercy

The Cascade Policeman's Fund

Purchase several buildings in the Fremont district of Cascade, improve said buildings and insure rent control for the tenants.

One line item had been crossed out, which read,

Purchase stock in the name of Daryl Banks and was replaced with,

Start a College/Travel fund in the name of Daryl Banks

And three items had been added...

Set up a Rainier University Scholarship in the name of Blair Jacob Sandburg, contingent on the University allowing said individual to complete his dissertation in the subject of his choice.

Purchase the building housing their home.

Purchase Wonderburger.

Blair to up the pen and added,

Purchase Blair Sandburg a new blue and white sweater and Jim Ellison a new coat and Wonderburger in your dreams.

He handed the list back to Jim, who smiled and said, " A guy's gotta have his dreams, Chief."

"You want to call the lawyer, or shall I?"

"I'll call -- tomorrow."

"Daryl's birthday is next month."

"Yes, yes it is."

Their breakfast came, and Jim managed not to snigger at the fact that Blair's plate had eight pancakes, and six slices of bacon, when there should have been five pancakes and no bacon. And he really had to use restraint when the waitress called Blair sweetie as she set an unordered plate of hash browns in front of him.

They ate, mostly silent, enjoying the company, enjoying watching each other. When the meal was over, after Jim had paid the bill, and as they were walking back to the car, Jim said,

"Would you mind if we stopped at Dad's... at the house? I think I'd like to go through everything now."

"No, Jim, I don't mind at all," Blair answered softly.

They got in, this time Blair behind the wheel, and as he pulled out of the parking lot, Jim asked, "Chief, if you ever leave me, will you take me with you?"

Blair took one hand off the wheel, took Jim's and said, "Hip pocket, man, hip pocket."

 

The End

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1300>

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, canon characters die -- William Ellison and Steven Ellison. Sorry.


End file.
